


Better than heaven and hell

by stormsonjupiter



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ass Play, Comfort/Angst, Dirty Thoughts, Dumbasses, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Food Kink, Gay Sex, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Other, Power Bottom Crowley, Rating: M, Rimming, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wet Dream, autoeroticism, self loathing Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsonjupiter/pseuds/stormsonjupiter
Summary: Even though they are terrible at communication, Crowley and Aziraphale both want the same thing--to be together. However, both have to discover themselves, and learn to trust each other, before they can.This story (will) cover the same events in Aziraphale and Crowley's history, exploring each character's individual sexual and romantic awakening before finally coming together. This is based on the TV show, with small references to the book (but there is some deviation).Part 1 (ch. 1-4) covers events from Aziraphale's perspective, starting during the Reign of Terror and ending after the Not-pocalypse. (Solo M, eventual M/M, Light Angst, autoeroticism) [Complete]Part 2 (ch. 5-8) shifts drastically in tone, as we finally hear what happens in Crowley's head during the same events. As we shall see, the two clueless boyfriends really are just plain awful at communication. (Solo M, eventual M/M, Heavy angst and self loathing, food kink) [Complete]Part 3 (ch. 9) will reveal an omnipresent narrator, that symbolizes the coming together (pun intended) of both angel and demon (M/M) [Complete]





	1. Crepes in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading, I offer two apologies. 
> 
> First, I am sorry, I am so, so, SO sorry, that I add yet *another* pile of slobbering Good Omens angst to an already saturated market. I know, I know, I really should just find the Tardis and beg the Doctor to throw me at an emo-band songwriter in 2003. Lord, what have I done, and why, WHY am I subjecting you fine, discerning readers to my deep, angsty shame??? I have no right to do this, and I apologize. If you read on (and if you don't I really can't blame you) you may leave comments telling me how bloody AWFUL it is for me to have posted, let alone written, such angsty smut. I truly deserve *all* of your ire.
> 
> Second, and I do truly mean this, I haven't written fanfiction in some time, so I am very rusty. I edited and edited to the best of my abilities, but Lord knows that I cannot permit anyone in my life to know that I've spent countless hours writing such angsty filth, let alone ask anyone to be my beta. There are sure to be errors, and for that I do sincerely, sincerely apologize.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley find there way at an inn in the French countryside after Crowley rescues the angel from the Reign of Terror. Their relationship takes a turn--but Aziraphale doesn't know if he should be....tempted. 
> 
> (Solo M)

Paris 1793

The crepes were divine. 

Aziraphale, with his eyes closed, let out a small groan as he took the last bite, letting the flavor spread over his tongue. How could such satisfaction, such ecstasy, come from such a light, delicate dish? Humans, Aziraphale mused, were truly admirable in their ability to create such a heavenly flavor using a few simple, modest ingredients. 

After swallowing, his eyes fluttered open, and he felt completely satisfied. He gingerly dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and smiled at his devilish companion. ‘No, not really devilish,’ thought Aziraphale, ‘he’s not a fiend like Hastur or the others. Simply on the other side.’ 

Crowley had barely moved a muscle since the two sat down. His lean figure was draped in a somewhat unsophisticated manner—legs spread with one elbow resting on the table. His snakelike eyes were covered with dark lenses, yet Aziraphale could sense that they were staring at him. The angel’s corporeal heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly felt incredibly self conscious. To need to be rescued in such a state, oh how embarrassing. What must Crowley think of him? An angel in need of saving from a demon—was there anything so absurd? 

And to top it all off, he now had to wear the executioner’s ridiculous revolutionary clothes, which were stale, rough, and soiled with nearly 1,000 deaths. He missed the soft aristocratic fabrics that were by now, no doubt, stained with deep crimson.

‘No wonder Crowley keeps staring at me,’ thought Aziraphale, ‘he must find me utterly repugnant.’

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and lowered his handkerchief. “Really, Crowley, you should at least try the cuisine. Here, let me order another.”

“No,” replied Crowley curtly. “I don’t think I could enjoy it nearly as much as you,” the demon seemed to hiss from between his teeth. 

Aziraphale blinked a few times, feeling suddenly sad for his rescuer. Did Crowley enjoy anything? How horrible it must be to exist on earth and not enjoy at least parts of it.

“Surely there must be something that gives you delight? Indeed, after the service you provided me today, I do owe you something.”

A wry smile crept onto Crowley’s face, and he shifted his weight so that he leaned in closer to Aziraphale. 

“I’m a demon. Of course there are things I take delight in.” The words lingered in the air, and Aziraphale looked into the dark lenses with widened eyes. Crowley bit his lower lip, and sat back in the chair. Aziraphale felt as though he was alluding to something but he couldn’t be sure what.

Aziraphale waited a moment for Crowley to continue, but the demon said nothing more. It occurred to the angel that he really did not know what the demon liked—other than tempting humans, of course. But then again, in the 16th and 17th century—when they became better acquaintances—-Aziraphale noticed that Crowley did not seem to tempt at often as he should, neglecting his duties, and even getting the angel to do his work for him from time to time, instead preferring to do—what? Saving Shakespeare’s plays? (no, that was a favor for me)…racing in a sailboat across the English channel? (no, again that was for me, but I do believe he may have enjoyed the danger).

“Well, what do you take delight in, then?” Aziraphale innocently asked, his kind eyes beaming with genuine interest. 

“I—,” Crowley began with a smile, but stopped short, and sighed. “I like….alcohol?” It came out as a question, rather than a statement.

“Well!” said Aziraphale with renewed excitement. “We are in France, and the wines in the south are absolutely wonderful. Do you enjoy champagne? There is a lovely little monastery—“

“Uh, yes, you seem to be forgetting that I’m a demon. I can’t exactly enter a monastery without my feet burning.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” chuckled Aziraphale, “my apologies. Well, but, there are so many vineyards in the south, perhaps we might find our way there?”

“Your side won’t like it very much, to traipse the country,” Crowley replied under his breath.

“Oh, yes, well, hmmm.” Aziraphale furrowed his brow. This was a conundrum—Aziraphale knew that Gabriel and the others would certainly disapprove. But more than that, Aziraphale wanted to do the right thing, and that included thanking his rescuer. The two had dined together on numerous occasions, and traveled on small journeys (usually when their business happened to be in the same area) but a trip that could last days—weeks, even—well, that would certainly not go unnoticed. 

“You know, there’s an inn just outside of town. They have wine there, though perhaps not as fine as your monastery champagne.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up, “I would be delighted to join you there. And perhaps…” his voice trailed off and his looked down as his attire, “perhaps I could freshen up.”

Crowley smiled and stood up. “Come along then, Angel. There’s bound to be a coach headed that direction any minute now.” Aziraphale looked sidelong at Crowley. 

“Well,” the demon said, “there will be a coach headed there after I’ve spoken with him.”

The two found a coach that just so happened to be heading to that village, and would be there in only a half an hour. There were two other passengers inside the coach who seemed annoyed at the added stop, but didn’t say about it to either Crowley or Aziraphale. Perhaps, Aziaphale thought, the executioner’s garb made the passengers hold their tongue, or perhaps Crowley had growled at them when he wasn’t looking. Either way, the silence of the journey allowed the angel time to enjoy the view of the countryside as they left the city. 

The inn just outside of Paris had a provincial charm that Aziraphale adored. While Paris was crowded and filled with the stench of death and hate, the inn seemed untouched by violence and blood. Aziraphale wondered if there was some demonic work at play that kept it out of harm’s way, but decided he had better not question it. 

The inn was just off a dirt road in a small village, with a garden in the front and a short stone pathway that led to a sturdy wooden door. It was two stories high, with seven windows facing the street—four upstairs and three down. A wooden sign hung on the door and had the words “Chez Aurelie” painted in flowery white lettering. Lambs frolicked on the hill next to the inn, as a young girl of perhaps 10 picked some wildflowers next to them. Off in the distance, Aziraphale noticed a herd of cows, grazing and lowing, while a brown dog barked and ran around them. It was late in the afternoon—nearly time for dinner Aziraphale realized—and he could smell something savory cooking over a fire inside. His mouth salivated at the thought of a hot meal, cooked with locally picked herbs de provence.

“Why, my dear Crowley, it’s absolutely charming!” Aziraphale exclaimed, tenderly grabbing ahold of the demon’s right hand. Crowley’s hand stiffened at the sudden touch at first, but he then relaxed and began to lace his fingers within the angel’s. Aziraphale smiled, his heart warm and absolutely delighted at the scene. 

The two stood there for a moment, hand in hand, until Aziraphale, still surprised at the scene began to say: “I would never have guessed that you would—”

“What? Stay in a place like this?” Crowley growled back, interrupting the angel’s comments. The curt response was followed by a sudden unlacing of fingers.

Aziraphale, surprised at the tone, brought his hand up to his mouth in dismay, and looked in horror at Crowley. “Well, it’s only….it’s just that…well I mean.”

“What, that I’m a demon?” Crowley snarled, anger boiling up inside. “That because I am a demon I would stay in some, I don’t know, some syphilis-laden shithole that would dirty your sparkling white feathers?”

“Wha—well, I—no—”

“—Well, don’t worry, angel,” Crowley continued as he sauntered away from the stammering Aziraphale, going down the short stone pathway that led to the door of the inn. “I would never dream of taking you somewhere—beneath your grand celestial standards.”

“Well, now, wait just a minute, Crowley that wasn’t what I meant at all!” Aziraphale chased the demon, the ridiculous revolutionary hat bobbing up and down with each step. “Please, I did not mean to give offense, and I am truly sorry if I have. That was not my intention and—oh, I would never wish to cause you…pain.”

Crowley reached the door and grabbed the handle, but upon hearing his apology, he stopped and turned to the angel. Aziraphale ceased his pursuit, panting a little, his eyes pleading with the demon.

‘I’ve made a huge mess of this,’ thought Aziraphale, his heart racing in anticipation of what Crowley would say. He never wanted to hurt anyone, especially not Crowley, his oldest acquaintance. Oh how horrible!

Crowley sighed and shook his head, “It’s fine Aziraphale.” His tone was softer, almost apologetic. “Come on,” and he swung open the door and entered the establishment. Aziraphale followed.

The inn was incredibly inviting. Downstairs was one giant room, with a bar on one end, and a stairway at the other. 4 large wooden tables filled the interior, sitting 8 people each, though only 4 of the chairs were currently occupied. A large fireplace, opposite the door, had a giant black cauldron boiling some savory meal. A woman in her 40’s with brown curly hair and a strong figure stirred its contents. “One minute, gentlemen,” the woman called out. “Please sit yourselves down.”

Crowley found a seat at the edge of a table, facing the front entrance and closest to the stairway (and farthest from the other patrons). Aziraphale took off his cap and clasped it to his chest, and followed the demon. He was genuinely curious about the inn, and he could feel something tingly in the air about the inside. It was a pleasant feeling, perhaps exacerbated by the delicious smell coming from whatever was being heated in the cauldron. 

Aziraphale sat across from Crowley and scooted his chair in close to the table, placing his hat on the seat next to him. Crowley slouched back and kept his chair at a small distance from the table, his legs spread into the same relaxed pose he held at the Creperie, and he looked over his shoulder towards the woman behind, his lips turned downward in a bored sort of frown. 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, really looked at him, and his heart raced. Aziraphale’s corporeal heart was a funny thing. It raced usually when something wonderful was happening—a child played with a puppy, a soldier returned home from war to his love, but sometimes it beat rapidly with anticipation of something exciting—the prospect of a delectable treat, or when he knew that he was going to perform a miracle. 

But he wasn’t sure why his heart raced when he looked at Crowley. And the longer he stared, the harder it seemed to beat.

“Crowley, I…I really am sorry, you know. I would never want to hurt you, please know that.” Crowley turned his head to Aziraphale’s direction, but kept quiet. “I, well, I just didn’t think that you would like something so…wholesome. I thought perhaps we would end up in a brothel, yes, or some palatial estate. But this is…perfect.” He smiled, and his eyes softened. “Truly, perfect.”

Crowley sighed. “Ahhh, you’re right, angel. This isn’t my usual cup of tea, so to speak. The fact is, I’ve been staying at a rather large estate, formally occupied by a family of currently headless aristocrats.” Aziraphale winced at this. “But I didn’t think you would enjoy drinking there, so I brought you here instead.” Aziraphale’s smile widened at how considerate his companion had been. 

“Besides, the wine is delicious.” Crowley’s tongue fluttered beautifully inside his mouth at the word delicious, and the sight made Aziraphale’s smile widen even further.

At this, the woman working at the inn approached the pair. “Alright then gents, what’ll it be.”

“A bottle of wine. Or two, perhaps?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who nodded. “Yes, two bottles.”

“Oh and—-some of whatever you have cooking in the pot,” added Aziraphale. “It smells heavenly.”

“Very good sir, though the stew is not quite ready. I’ll bring it once it is. And will you be requiring two rooms as well?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “we shall,” and he set down a small bag of coins.

“Alright then,” the woman said with a wink as she picked up the bag. She headed over to the bar and grabbed to bottles of wine and two glasses, while the angel and demon watched her movements with anticipation. She walked back to the table, and dropped off the drinks, and then produced a large iron ring of keys that was hanging from her waist. She unhooked two thick, black keys from the ring, and set them on the table.

“First two rooms upstairs on the right. Let me know if you'll be needing anything else.”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale nodded their thanks, and the woman went back to the cauldron. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have a way to pay you back right now for the room and board,” confessed Aziraphale. 

“Ah, well don’t worry about that. That purse came straight from a very, very wicked man. He won’t miss it.” 

“Ah, er hmm,” Aziraphale replied, unsure if he should accept hospitality purchased with money of some decapitated fellow. Crowley, as if reading his thoughts poured their wine.

“Oh, come on angel, it’s fine. Cheers!”

“Cheers, yes!” Aziraphale returned with a smile, forgetting his momentary hesitation. The pair clinked glasses and drank the wine—dry, with a hint of raspberries. Aziraphale smacked his lips approvingly. “Why now that does hit the spot!” 

“It does, angel,” Crowley replied, before downing another couple of large gulps.

Before long, they finished the first bottle and got tipsy in the process. The innkeeper brought two bowls of fine venison stew, though only Aziraphale ate the rich contents. Crowley, sat, staring at his companion as he practically licked the bowl dry. 

As this was happening, Crowley teased Aziraphale for the outfit he wore, noting that it would look very fine accessorized with a flaming sword. Aziraphale’s cheeks reddened at the memory of giving away his sword in Eden, and felt embarrassed that Crowley should know this great secret. 

Soon the conversation turned to the events in Paris, the violence of humanity, and whether or not it was justified in cases of extreme oppression, and both wondered about how the revolution fit within the ineffable plan.

Crowley began to fill their glasses with wine out of the second bottle at the mention of the ineffable plan, and Aziraphale, heart still racing, felt a little bolder than he had earlier.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began tentatively, “would it be alright if I asked you a question.”

“Sure, angel, ask me anything. I won’t promise that I’ll respond, but you can certainly ask.”

“Well, when we were in England, you know, in the last few centuries, I couldn’t help but notice that you…seemed to tempt less and less. I know it isn’t my place to really understand it, and I really should try and persuade you not to anyways, but…well…is everything alright?”

Before answering Crowley drained his glass of wine and poured himself another.

“Notice that, did you? Well, I suppose I did slack off a bit. Laziness and all. Really tempting is quite a bit of work, and honestly, not all that satisfying since Eve.”

A flash of disapproval crossed Aziaphale’s face. He quickly looked away from Crowley and sipped his wine. 

“Oh, come on Aziraphale. You can’t tell me that doing Heaven’s bidding is always satisfying.”

“Of course it is, Crowley.”

“Mmmm,” responded the demon, taking another gulp of wine, and then setting his glass down on the table next to the keys. 

Aziraphale suddenly realized the lateness of the hour. The other four patrons had left some time ago, and even the innkeeper had gone off to bed. The fire was dwindling now, and darkness crept in the room. Shadows danced on the walls, and were growing larger with each passing minute, and Aziraphale felt like something was going to happen. That’s when he noticed the keys resting on the table—keys which the angel had forgotten about until now.

The demon gently stroked the key closest to him, moving his fingers delicately up and down the iron stem. Aziraphale watched his hand, and he swallowed hard, feeling a sudden warmth building up in his lower abdomen. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but very pleasant. He couldn’t turn his eyes away from the key, the hand that played with it, as though he was completely hypnotized. A shiver danced up his spine and he let out a small sigh. His heart raced, like he was about to perform a huge miracle.

“Perhaps…perhaps we should continue our conversation…upstairs?” Crowley asked, never moving his hand away from the key.

Aziraphale felt like he suddenly realized what was happening, what had been happening all evening—although he didn’t understand why. 

“Are you…tempting me…demon?” Aziraphale asked, not removing his eyes from the key. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and his heart began to ache. 

Crowley laughed. “And if I were?”

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and turned his eyes to Crowley’s, which were still covered with black lenses. “I—-I supposed it depends on what the temptation is.”

Crowley smiled, grabbed the keys and bottle. “Follow me. You take the glasses.”

Aziraphale obeyed, and the two found their way up the dark staircase and into the first room on the right. The room was small, had only a small bed and little round table next to it. Crowley locked the door, and threw the keys on the table, and sat on the bed. He took off his glasses, also setting them on the table, and revealed his golden, snakelike eyes. Aziraphale stood next to the door, holding one glass in each hand, unsure of what to do next. 

Crowley held up the wine bottle with one hand and pat the spot on the mattress next to him.

“Come angel, have a seat, and let’s finish this bottle.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, steeling himself, walked to the bed and sat next to Crowley. The demon reached out a hand and Aziraphale handed him a glass. The demon smiled and poured. 

“And yours?”

“N-no,” Aziraphale stammered, setting the glass down on the floor beside him. “I, I think I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley replied with a shrug, downing all the contents of the glass. 

“Look, Crowley. I just. I just wanted you to know, again, that I am truly grateful for you coming to rescue me today. I mean that. But I’m not sure about you…tempting…me.”

Crowley placed his wine glass on the table and stared deep into Aziraphale’s eyes. They were beautiful, the angel thought, their color golden and warm like the sun. Aziraphale shuddered—he was scared. Scared because he knew that something was happening inside of him that he couldn’t fully control, and he was scared that if he got too close to Crowley, he would utterly give way to some kind of wild abandon. He didn’t want to do anything wrong, and certainly none of this felt wrong, but he had his hesitations. 

He knew about sex—he had, after all, lived for several millennia, but he had never partaken. With humans, so it seemed to Aziraphale, the most wholesome sex, the truly ecstatic, deep, meaningful kind of heavenly sex, only really occurred when there was a deep, genuine, passionate love. And while Aziraphale loved, well, everything in creation, the deep connection required for such sex meant that his deep, passionate love needed to be requited, reciprocated, unselfish and on equal ground—and he could never have that kind of relationship with a human. 

An immortal like Crowley, on the other hand, was his equal in almost every way. Well, they were opposites, but they were both powerful, and knew the secrets of the universe. And they both, for whatever reason, spent their time on earth, meddling with human lives. 

And he did love Crowley—well, he loved everything, even the fallen. But there was something about Crowley that manifested a particular kind of feeling that he did not experience with anyone, or anything, else. And as he sat, staring deeply into Crowley’s eyes, he realized that part of what he was feeling was a sexual desire, born perhaps out of the realization that the two immortal beings were, in many ways, equals.

But even if he loved Crowley, and even if he desired him, he couldn’t trust that Crowley truly loved him back. 

Could a demon love?

“Be with me,” Crowley whispered, lifting a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. His thumb stroked gently, and Aziraphale closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation. 

“Please, Angel.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale murmured, but Crowley didn’t stop stroking his cheek. His thumb moved ever so delicately across the angel’s face, moving down to his jawline, and up to his lips, tracing around their fullness. Aziraphale’s heart felt like it was going to explode and the warmth in his abdomen burned down to his loins. The demon inched his body closer, and slowly leaned his face next to Aziraphale’s, using his hand to lift the angel’s face to his. It was all too much to bear.

“Please..Crowley,” he opened his eyes, and took the demon’s hand from his cheek and placed it on the bed. “I can’t.”

“But why? Why can’t you?” Crowley asked in desperation. Their faces were so close that Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s warm breath, and could smell his sweet, warm scent. While some demons might have malodorous corporeal forms, a temptation demon like Crowley smelled delicious.

“Because…” Aziraphale paused to think of a reason. “Because my side wouldn’t like it very much. And I’m pretty sure yours wouldn’t either.”

“Your side,” Crowley scoffed. “Your side would never need know. It’s not like they check up on everything we do.”

“But I would know. And I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

“It isn’t like you avoid sin, you gluttonous angel.” At this, the angel scoffed. 

Crowley continued. “Oh would you enjoy some more crepes, Aziraphale?” his tone was mocking, and Crowley was clearly a bit drunk. “I’m shocked that I didn’t find you at the battle of Marathon looking for some baklava!” 

At this, Aziraphale stood up, and straightened his top. “I don’t trust you, Crowley.”

Crowley stood up too, “You don’t trust me?! Because, because I’m a demon?”

“Well, yes, if you must know.”

“And what about today. Did that not earn any of your trust?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment. “It was a happy coincidence that you were there, but I don’t believe I can simply transgress my own comfort to say a simple thank you.”

“Coincidence? Coincidence? Do you know why I was there today? There to break you out of that awful prison? Because I could sense you were in danger. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I felt it. I felt you, Aziraphale, and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t want you to lose your corporeal form with that awful machine. I wanted to help you, because I love helping you.”

Aziraphale sensed Crowley’s inner turmoil, and his defenses fell. The angel felt sincere compassion for the demon. He said nothing, but looked deep into Crowley’s eyes with sympathy.

“You want to know why I stopped tempting? Because of you. Because spending time with you—ruined me. I realized, some time in the last century, that tempting humans could never give me as much satisfaction as helping you.” After saying this, tears fell down Crowley’s face, and he slumped back into the bed, covering his face with his hands.

Aziraphale sat next to Crowley, and patted his knee. “There, there demon,” said Aziraphale, “It’ll be alright.”

“How could it possibly?”

Aziraphale had no answer to this. He truly did not know if it would be alright. But he wanted it to be—he wanted Crowley to be happy and not in turmoil. And he wanted them to be alright, with whatever it was they had. 

He sighed. “It’s all just moving so suddenly.” Crowley sat up and looked at Aziraphale. 

“Suddenly? You can’t be serious….”

“But I am, Crowley. We are immortal beings. We have forever.”

“Look, Angel, just tell me that you’ll never be with me because I’m a demon, and you’re too good for me.”

“No, don’t you see, that’s not it at all. Of course I have feelings for you, my dear Crowley. And I do want to be with you, I think. In some way, I do. But I don’t know if you can have feelings for me. The sort of unselfish kind of feeling that begets, well, begets true friendship.”

Crowley scoffed. “Friendship? Friendship indeed. Ha.”  
Crowley took a giant swig straight from the bottle, and red wine poured down the corners of his lips. He wiped it with the back of his hand, and threw the bottle on the ground. It was mostly empty, anyways. 

“Perhaps you’re right, angel. Perhaps I am incapable of that. Perhaps I only freed you today because I wanted to tempt you into fucking me. How great would that be? Tempting an angel into Carnal knowledge.”

Aziraphale stopped patting Crowley’s knee. He looked at his feet and sighed. He felt a pang in his heart—he felt sorry for Crowley, and really hoped that he was doing the right thing.

“Look, Crowley, let us just be friends for now. How does that sound.”

“Friends? With you? Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. I would never be friends with you. Angel.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Very well, Crowley. I believe I should leave now. I probably should have left a while ago. Good night.”

Crowley rolled over, and faced the wall as Aziraphale walked out the door and went into his room. He didn’t sleep—angels and demons don’t really need sleep, after all—but there was much to think about. 

First was how he felt about Crowley. He knew that he loved Crowley, but in what capacity? It was a new sort of sensation—perhaps a manifestation of the divine’s love that he had never had access to before. 

And did that even matter—if Crowley couldn’t reciprocate the feeling, being that he was a demon. But Crowley wasn’t like other demons, was he? Crowley seemed to care, and Aziraphale wanted badly to trust him—but he had to wait to see. Was Crowley capable of unselfish love? Or were all demons selfish to the core? 

Then there was the issue of sex. Aziraphale had never been tempted to participate in sexual acts, but Crowley had made him aroused, and the sensation was intoxicating. He wanted to know more about this feeling, explore it on his own terms, understand what was happening before he allowed someone else to experience it with him. 

He wanted to know his own corporeal body before he gave it away to someone else.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and thought of Crowley stroking his face, stroking the key. He felt the same warmth in his abdomen that he felt earlier, and it spread to his loins. At first he his hands were affixed to his sides, but as his erection grew, his right hand found its way to it, while his left clutched the blanket. His eyebrows fluttered, as his hand stroked the shaft over the clothes, and he gasped in surprised ecstasy. 

Feeling constricted, he unfastened the breeches and released his erection into the night air. He throbbed with euphoria and his right hand moved up and down faster and faster.

“Oh,” he whispered, his toes curled and his left hand clenched the blanket even tighter. He bit his lower lip to prevent himself from yelling, and thought of Crowley. His hand stroking his cheek, the way his fingers delicately moved on the key, the way he sat in a chair with his legs spread widely—

“OH!” He exclaimed, as a warmth rose through him and spurted outward. His hips and abdomen bucked and bucked again, as his pleasure reverberated over him in waves.

The feeling slowly subsided, and Aziraphale breathed heavily, looking around at the mess he’d made.

‘Well,’ he thought, ‘that was better than crepes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter! I feel compelled, at this point, to make 2 things clear. 
> 
> First, the notes at the beginning of the chapter are intended to be a kinky tone reflecting Crowley (whose perspective we will see in Part 2). The beginning notes will shift in tone when we get to Part 2 to be more in line with Aziraphale. 
> 
> If you have thoughts about Crowley in this chapter, let me know! I'm currently planning the chapters from Crowley's perspective.


	2. Part 1: the long 19th century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale continues to down a path of self discovery, when the long lost Crowley finally turns up.
> 
> (Solo Aziraphale, but less graphic than last chapter).
> 
> TW: oblique references to suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, so you're still reading? 
> 
> Well, you'd better stop. It's just some more angsty filth.
> 
> There's not even *that* must explicit material in this chapter. There's just a lot of feeling. 
> 
> And staring deeply. 
> 
> And sighing. 
> 
> God there's so much sighing. 
> 
> WHY DO THEY ALWAYS HAVE TO SIGH?
> 
> ...I warned you.

London, December 1861

It had been nearly 70 years since Aziraphale had last seen Crowley. That morning in the inn outside of Paris, Aziraphale had discovered that Crowley had left, leaving no note or hint of where he was going. At first, the angel was heartbroken, but was sure that their paths would cross in the near future. They crossed frequently enough, at any rate, meeting at least a couple of times each decade. 

But after two decades passed, there was no site of the demon. In the 1820’s Aziraphale took it upon himself to travel the world, in search of his companion—but after 8 years of searching, he found nothing. He did not know if the absence was due to Fate, or if Crowley was intentionally avoiding Aziraphale. Either way, the demon, it seemed, was gone, and Aziraphale would have to move on.

At this time, Aziraphale opened a lovely bookshop in London, resolving to lose himself in reading about humans. He made some wonderful discoveries and purchases, which included some rather racy pornographic texts that have been banned at many times throughout history. 

The pornography didn’t arouse Aziraphale in the traditional sense—humanity's basest desires rooted in shame was not to his liking. However, they did help him make several significant discoveries about his own body. He learned how to last longer before coming, and what sensations his corporeal form found most pleasurable. He found emollients that made him feel tingly and warm, and tried different positions in self pleasure—standing, sitting, on his hands and knees. He thrust himself into various cushions, and even discovered (thanks to some anatomical texts) that massaging just around the opening in his backside offered just as much pleasure as (if not more than) massaging his erection did. 

Of course, accessing this area was a bit tricky—his own fingers, made slick with his saliva, would find their way to this pleasure point, but he felt as though it would be much better if someone else did it for him. 

And of course, the only someone else he ever wanted was Crowley. Aziraphale did not always think of Crowley during these intimate moments. He tried usually to think of the pleasure itself, for pleasure’s sake. Feeling the warm euphoria travel over his body and through him, reaching every corner of his corporeal form was almost always enough to get him to come. 

But the deepest, most intense orgasms always were brought on by thoughts of Crowley. The way he smelled, oh he missed his smell, the way his eyes looked hungrily at Aziraphale that night in Paris, the way his long fingers danced across his face, his lips. Oh if only he could feel Crowley’s fingers again, moving from his lips, down, down, down until, oh yes there. 

As he inserted slick fingers inside of himself, he imagined what it would be like to have Crowley back there, to have his fingers find their way inside. He thought about the way Crowley sat, legs spread without a care for decorum. He wondered what it would be like to feel Crowley’s erection inside of him, straddling the demon’s thighs and working both of them up to an ecstatic release. 

Oh what pleasure he would love to give to Crowley—if only Crowley could love him back, be open with him, not look for some toxic and temporary satisfaction, but truly be able to give, and receive, love. 

Early in December, Aziraphale closed his bookshop, looking out the door window as snow began to dust the ground. It was lovely—the streetlights were lit, and everything was wonderfully silent. Aziraphale smiled, content at the scene. He had just received a manuscript of Chaucer that he was desiring to pour over, and after that—well, perhaps indulge in a bit of self pleasure—when he suddenly saw a figure standing in the snow, facing the shop. Aziraphale blinked, making sure it was not some kind of mirage—but no, there stood a lanky figure, hands jammed into the pockets of his black coat, wearing a black top hat, and his eyes were covered with dark spectacles.

Aziraphale’s heart leapt at the sight, his eyes twinkled with excitement and he quickly unlocked the door. 

“My dear Crowley, oh is it really you?” 

“Aye, it’s me, Angel.”

“Oh well do, please, come in, come in! Oh it is so good to see you.”

Crowley shuffled in and Aziraphale locked the door behind them. 

“Please, here, let me take your things—yes and your glasses too. Oh come now, you don’t have to hide from me, yes, good, isn’t that better. Now, can I offer you anything? Some tea perhaps? Cake?”

Crowley removed his hat, outer coat, and glasses, handing them to a doting Aziraphale, and laughed. “No tea for me, Angel.”

Aziraphale set down Crowley’s things, and ran up to him and grabbed his hands. “Oh Crowley, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”

“Well, it’s, er…might we sit down?”

“Oh yes of course, here, let us go to the back.”

The angel led, and the demon followed. The back room was in a bit of disarray, and Aziraphale had to clear some books from a chair to give Crowley a space to sit. “I’m surprised to see things so unkempt. Doesn’t your lot usually prefer order?”

“Oh no, Crowley, I believe the divine is always operating somewhere between a little bit of order and a little bit of chaos. Besides, I have just stumbled upon the most wonderful collection of books and have yet to go through them all—but oh, never mind. Crowley, please tell me where you have been.”

Crowley’s eyes turned towards a bottle of wine resting on a table on the other side of the room. “Perhaps this would be easier to discuss with a small glass of—“

“Oh, yes, of course.” Aziraphale walked to where the bottle was, and poured a glass for his companion. He remembered the last time they drank together, of course. He thought of it daily. He decided he would forego a glass—keep his wits about him. 

“Here you are, my dear fellow,” Aziraphale said, offering Crowley a glass. Crowley took a few gulps, and sighed. The angel pulled up his chair, and sat close to the demon, so close that their knees nearly touched. 

“I looked for you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley furrowed his brow at this.

“You…you did?” 

“Yes, of course. I searched the world, but decided that, well, either you or God didn’t want me to find you. And either way, it seemed hopeless for me to keep searching.”

“Well, it’s true I didn’t exactly wish to be found. After…that night…I felt, well, really wretched. I tried to tempt some humans, but that didn’t help, so I came back to London, and well, I slept.”

“You….slept?”

“Yes, I slept, alright. Slept for decades.”

Aziraphale was a little dumbfounded. “But…why?”

“Because, Angel, I wasn't feeling myself.” 

“Well, are you feeling better now?” Aziraphale asked with deep concern, gently putting his hand upon Crowley’s knee. 

“I, um, well, I’m not entirely sure. When I woke, I felt restless, so I, well, I decided to come here and sort things out with you.”

“Ah. And what is it that needs sorting?”

Crowley set the wine-filled glass on the table next to him, looking away from Aziraphale. 

“Us, I imagine. That is, we need to sort ourselves out, right?” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow quizzically and Crowley turned his eyes back to the angel.

“Well, I mean, we do run into each other when doing our respective work, and um, it would be good to have a good relationship—er, something—if we are going to go back to doing what we do.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It would indeed.”

“Look, it’s late. Perhaps I can come by again tomorrow, and we can, uh, well you can catch me up on what you’ve been up to?”

“Sounds perfect Crowley.”

“Right well, goodnight.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley out, and locked the door behind him. His heart was brimming with joy. Crowley was back! And he was going to come back again.

Crowley did indeed come back the next evening, and the evening after that. In fact, Crowley returned to the bookstore almost every evening for some months, always after the store was closed, and when the streets were dark. It felt safer that way, so that they wouldn’t get caught together. When spring came, they did meet together occasionally in the daytime, it was always briefly and always at St. James Park, where Aziraphale would enjoy feeding the ducks. 

Nothing physical happened between the two of them—well, nothing overtly sexual. But there was affection. Whenever Aziraphale would be overcome with excitement, he would grab Crowley’s hands, almost absentmindedly. One time Crowley removed an eyelash from Aziraphale’s cheek, at which contact Aziraphale smiled and looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes—perhaps for a little too long. Crowley looked away first. 

Aziraphale enjoyed doting on his friend, treating him almost like he were recovering from some horrible ailment. He tried to ply him with food and tea, and sometimes Crowley would partake, but usually wine was the demon’s preferred drink of choice. Aziraphale was only happy that he could oblige. 

The doting wasn’t wholly one-sided. Sometimes Crowley would come to the shop with a book or manuscript, finding even a very rare scroll of Aristotle that everyone believes was forgotten—but Crowley found it and gave it to Aziraphale.

Their conversation was natural, often talking of humans and food and temptations and blessings. Sometimes the conversation would turn to the Great War that was to come and the ineffable plan, but one of them (usually Aziraphale) would inevitably change the topic. The uncomfortable truth is that they were on opposite sides, and when the war came, well, they would have to fight one another. Possibly even destroy the other. 

Aziraphale couldn’t stand to think of it, and really was unsure what he would do in that situation. He could never really hurt anyone—perhaps that was why he gave the flaming sword away in the first place—what use did he have for a weapon? He didn’t smite, like some of the other angels did. He simply wished to help, and to relieve pain. But, he also did not wish to disobey his side. So he really was unsure about what he would do, but he knew one thing.

He would never, ever, hurt Crowley.

So, Aziraphale decided to be in denial that the apocalypse was going to happen at all. 

One evening in late summer of 1862, Aziraphale was describing a mint-condition edition of Beowulf he had stumbled across, when Crowley (somewhat drunk) interrupted him.  
“Angel, I—I have a confession to make.”

Aziraphale stopped talking and raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Angel. Angelaphale. Azira. Phale. I want to say *hic* something.”

“Well, by all means, go ahead.”

“I *hic* I want you to *hic* when the time comes *hic* I can’t do it.”

“Do what, my dear?”

“Hurt you *hic*. I can’t hurt you, Azirangel. I won’t.”

Aziraphale sighed, and patted Crowley’s knee. “Perhaps you should sober up, Crowley.”

Crowley hiccuped again, “I will I will but you must know—YOU must *hic* know, I could never”

“I know, Crowley,” sighed Aziraphale. “And I could never hurt you either. Please, please sober up.”

Crowley obeyed, with the table shaking as the wine bottle refilled. 

“Crowley, I don’t think we should worry about that now.” 

“But it’s ineffable.”

“Yes, but, we don’t know what it will mean. And truly, I would never, could never hurt you. And I know you would never hurt me.” 

Aziraphale’s stared longingly into Crowley’s eyes. He meant every word.

Crowley lifted his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, and gently stroked it with his thumb. It was the same hand, the same cheek as before, but this time the feeling was different. Electric yes, but tender and soft. Aziraphale and Crowley both had tears welling in their eyes. 

“Meet me tomorrow at St. James,” the demon murmured.

“Of course. Usual time?”

“Yes,” the demon said, and he left.

….

“Holy Water.” That’s what the slip of paper said. Aziraphale’s heart dropped to his stomach. A sudden fear of losing Crowley forever was too much to bear, and in such a way? To such a senseless self-demise? It wouldn’t just kill him, it would utterly, painfully, cosmically destroy the very essence of him. The thought caused Aziraphale pain like he had not yet experienced.

He ran away from the park, straight back to his bookstore. Didn’t Crowley realize that he could never bring him such a weapon, that he could never do anything that could harm the demon? 

Didn’t Crowley realize how much Aziraphale loved him?

A few days passed, and Aziraphale didn’t leave his shop. He drank more wine that normal, and felt the sheer weight of heartbreak at the thought of losing his friend forever. Of course, he could not imagine what he would say to Gabriel—to God—if he defied orders, but there was time. He would think of something, he was sure. 

Even if it meant losing his own immortal life to save Crowley’s. 

A week passed, and there was no sign of Crowley. Aziraphale wondered if he would not see him for another 70 years, but then, one evening as he flipped the sign to “Closed,” he saw the demon standing outside. Aziraphale opened the door. 

“Come in, Crowley,” and the demon did. 

“Look, Aziraphale, I—I’m sorry, alright. I never should have asked you.”

“Never should have asked?! Crowley, you foul demon, you never should have thought of it in the first place!”

Crowley sighed. “Angel, I just want some insurance, you know, in case things start happening. In case—well in case we get caught. In case,” Crowley gulped, “in case someone comes after you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened and his heart melted at the thought. ‘He’s worried for me,’ the angel realized. ‘He wants to protect me.’

“Crowley, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not handing you something so dangerous.”

“It’s fine—just forget about it, alright?” Aziraphale nodded compassionately.

“You have anymore of that vintage from 1829?”

Aziraphale smiled, “I do indeed. Please, this way.”


	3. Part 1: You go too fast for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale realizes that Crowley does, in fact love him, but he knows Crowley has a secret.
> 
> The angel realizes he *can* trust the demon--but actually *putting* that trust in Crowley is another matter entirely.
> 
> (Solo Aziraphale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't imagine anyone actually made it this far. 
> 
> Oh, you did? 
> 
> Ugh, how can you even put up with this. You must really be a glutton for angst...a masochist for unrequited sexual tension.
> 
> Is there not something better for you to read? A fluffy 25-part story on Aziraphale and Crowley tricking Gabriel? A hardcore one-shot with lots and lots of thrusting and groaning?
> 
> They don't even fuck in this chapter. Is it really worth building up all this tension in your mind?
> 
> Well, alright then...

London 1941

The world wars meant that Aziraphale and Crowley saw much less of each other. Crowley travelled around the globe, and Aziraphale remained mainly in England, offering his services to hospitals filled with wounded soldiers and Spanish flu patients. He had to choose his miracles carefully, having been reprimanded by Gabriel several times, but he eased suffering as often as he could. 

Humanity, it seemed, was killing itself. And Aziraphale felt such sorrow. 

He had been contacted by a British spy in 1940, saying that Hitler was looking for books, and that Aziraphale may be contacted by Nazi operatives. If he was, the spy asked, would he be so kind as to find the books and supply them to the operatives, while she set up a sting operation?  
Aziraphale felt righteously compelled to join the cause, and about 6 months later, he was indeed contacted by someone asking for his books on prophesy. It took some months, and Aziraphale found all but one. 

The angel was so blinded by his happiness to help the cause, that he was utterly surprised at being played by a double agent. He felt naive—similar to how he felt getting caught in revolutionary Paris while wearing aristocratic garb. Gun pointed in his face, Aziraphale realized that he was going to get in great trouble with Gabriel. 

Perhaps if he could reason with them, they would see the err of their ways?

That’s when Crowley entered the church, burning his feet on the consecrated ground, and miraculously caused the bomb to drop on them.

But it wasn’t this gesture that made Aziraphale truly realize that the demon Crowley was capable of love. 

It was saving the books. There was no reason to save the books, other than Aziraphale treasured them. Crowley didn’t even like books that much, so why save them? Crowley walked away from the debris, asking for nothing in return from Aziraphale, just showing up merely to be his rescuer. 

Again.

It also occurred to Aziraphale, during this mess, that they worked well together. The bomb that dropped was totally Crowley’s doing, but saving the angel and demon's corporeal bodies was all thanks to Aziraphale. 

Azirahale watched Crowley walk away, and felt a fullness in his heart that he had not felt before. He trusted Crowley, and Crowley trusted him.

He loved Crowley, and now he was certain. And Crowley loved him back.

That night, Aziraphale went to his bookstore, and hoped Crowley would return, but he did not, and when the clock struck 2, the angel thought that he had better turn in.

He reclined on his couch, feeling a warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The wars were so devastating that Aziraphale had completely forgotten the joy of self pleasure. But now, resting in his bed, he felt the tingle of arousal, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of happiness that resulted from realizing that Crowley truly and unselfishly reciprocated his feelings. 

“Oh Crowley,” he moaned, as his hand began stroking. He thought of Crowley’s hands, the way they brushed his when Crowley handed him the satchel of books.

“Oh, oh Crowley,” he thought about the demon’s swaggering gate as we walked away from him in the darkness.

“Oh, heaven and hell, Crowley,” he thought about the demon, who he had been, and who he was today, and Aziraphale felt light emanate from his being— his celestial power activated by the euphoric fullness of feeling love reciprocated. It was unlike any self pleasure that Aziraphale had heretofore experienced, and he opened his mind to the possibility of love. 

“Crowley,” he moaned again, this time not thinking of the corporeal form of Crowley, but of his essence, his dark power, the temptation. Aziraphale allowed himself to imagine temptation, not to do anything in particular, but the raw essence of temptation itself. He imagined Crowley would give Aziraphale all of himself, including his dark power, and in turn would receive the angel’s celestial essence, and they would fuse together as one. 

And he imagined that he blessed the temptation with his light.

“Oh, Crowley,” and he came, suddenly, in waves of light and pleasure and love that transcended his corporeal form. It was a pleasure seared into the very fabric of reality itself. 

London, 1967

Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley until after the end of the war, when he appeared at his bookshop some days after the liberation of Auschwitz.

“Was it truly awful, Crowley” he asked with compassion, full well knowing the answer.

Crowley said nothing but sank his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder and sobbed. They both loved earth, and loved humanity. They, neither of them, wanted such violence and suffering to happen on this scale again.

Crowley resumed his habit of coming to the shop to chat with Aziraphale after closing—not as often as before the wars, but regularly. He didn’t drink as much, and he seemed rather secretive, but Aziraphale thought it best not to pry after the horrors that both of them had experienced. 

One day he would ask, but they had all the time in the world.

In late spring of 1965 a man named Shadwell entered Aziraphale’s store, looking for books on witchcraft. 

“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have a large selection, but you are welcome to peruse.”

The man did, and came back a week later, and a week after that. He couldn’t afford anything in the shop, but was keenly interested in learning whatever he could about witches. Soon, the two developed an acquaintance, based on the history of witches and witchcraft and the occult. Aziraphale would try not to give too much information away on what he knew, but the man (it seemed) could tell that Aziraphale was fully interested in the balance of good and evil. 

“You know,” Shadwell said, “I have an army.”

“An army?” Asiraphale responded with surprise. He was not impressed with an army.

“Well, not an army. A network. We keep our eyes and ears open, you know, for anything…strange.”

Aziraphale thought about this for a minute. He hadn’t used a human network in a long time, but it did have some benefits. Particularly, and dare he think it, but particularly if certain events were set into motion to bring about the end of the world. At the very least, perhaps he could find that set of Prophesies by Agnes Nutter.

“We do require a bit of financing, though” Shadwell noted, looking at the angel’s expensive attire, “but we get the job done.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale. “I would be happy to be kept informed of any unusual activities. And if, perhaps, you find Agnes Nutter’s book—“

“I would hand it over straightway.”

The two smiled and clinked their teacups together. 

Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship had not progressed much since the war. Aziraphale, though he was sure Crowley loved him, couldn’t help but feel like the demon was hiding something from him. He was often deflecting the conversation whenever Aziraphale would start to inquire, the demon would laugh it off, or change the subject. But Aziraphale was patient, and trusted that, in time Crowley would tell him. 

One night, in autumn of 1967, Crowley gulped down a glass of scotch, wiped his mouth with he back of his hand, and asked Aziraphale if he ever would consider disobeying orders. 

“Really, Crowley, how could you even ask me,” Aziraphale responded. It wasn’t the first time Crowley asked.

“I figured as much,” the demon replied, and slumped back into his chair. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gently whispered. “My dear, please. What is wrong?” Crowley shook his head. “I know that it was awful, the wars, but please, is that all that distresses you?”

Crowley swallowed, and looked hard at Aziraphale.  
“It’s going to happen,” Crowley answered. 

“What is?” Aziraphale asked in reply, but he knew the answer.

“Those wars—those wars were different. Humanity always had its flaws, it’s penchant for violence, but those wars changed things. Don’t you see Aziraphale? There is no going back for humanity after that, and I fear it’s only a matter of time. And I don’t know how long we have.”

The two sat together in silence. Aziraphale knew Crowley was right, and knew that whatever time they had left seemed to be coming to an end. His heart broke at the thought. 

Crowley stood up to leave, saying nothing more. 

“Please, Crowley. Don’t do anything—rash.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale and a faint smile rose on his face. 

“Not without you, Angel.”

Two days later, Shadwell came into the shop with a bit of news. 

“I’ve been hired by a mysterious gentleman, to steal something from a church.”

“A church?!” Aziraphale was alarmed. “Well certainly you should not do it!”

“I figured you would say as much. But this gentleman, well, he said it's for some greater purpose.”

“Did he indeed?” Aziraphale answered back, but his mind began racing. “Tell me, what did he look like?”

“Red hair. Skinny. Wore sunglasses.” 

“Indeed,” replied Aziraphale. So, that’s what Crowley was keeping secret. He hadn’t stopped his obsession with finding holy water. 

“Thank you, Shadwell. And when will this happen?”

“Not sure. I’m supposed to meet him in 6 days, at this place.” He handed Aziraphale a sheet of paper with the meeting time and address to some dark and trendy establishment in SoHo.

Aziraphale copied down the time and address.

That night, Aziraphale tossed and turned. He loved Crowley, and trusted Crowley, especially when he said he wouldn’t make any rash decisions alone. And he no longer believed Crowley was going to use it for self harm—but it was still such a dangerous thing for a demon to have in his possession. Yet, he couldn’t imagine what he would do if Crowley accidentally harmed himself—or the humans—in a vain attempt to get that which Aziraphale could easily acquire. 

He would have to trust Crowley. And to do so, Aziraphale resolved that he would have to give him holy water.

“I’m taking a trip to Rome,” Aziraphale told Crowley a few nights later.

“Assignment from above? Or did you find some lost manuscript of St. Augustine in the Vatican?”

Aziraphale laughed, “oh, I wish it were a manuscript, but alas, no.”

“When will you return?” asked Crowley.

“Not sure, exactly. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two, but you know, Rome is so lovely this time of year. And oh, the hand rolled pasta!” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up, remembering a delicious dish of noodles and boar’s meat in the Medieval town of Orvieto. Perhaps, he could visit their church while he was there, just to check up on things, make sure the humans were alright.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick of fish and chips?” Crowley mocked. 

“Well, it is nice to try different cuisines.”

Crowley grunted in response. 

“Well, perhaps we could meet up next week, when I return?”

“Alright, Angel,” Crowley stood up and made for the door. “I’ll see you next week.”

Aziraphale left for Rome the following day, and headed to the Vatican. It took two days to complete his business of collecting water blessed from the Pope—there were a number of other angels there conducting business, and he spent as much time avoiding them as he could. He had to return to London by the following night, in order to intercept Crowley, and get him to put an end to this ridiculous heist. 

He arrived at SoHo, about 20 minutes after the meeting had started, and found Crowley’s bentley parked on the street. Clutching his satchel containing a thermos of holy water, he snuck his way into Crowley’s car, and waited. 

He felt abysmal, but he knew that he had to trust Crowley. Crowley had said he’d never ask Aziraphale for holy water again, and Aziraphale had assumed at the time that that meant he would give up on the business altogether. Of course, it just meant that Crowley kept Aziraphale out of the loop, and that wasn’t something Aziraphale wanted. He wanted them to trust one another, and to deepen their love. Whatever business Crowley got himself in to, Aziraphale wanted to be there, supporting him, trusting him.

But he still didn’t feel good about it. 

In fact, after this business, he was going to need a break from Crowley. Not permanently, of course, but for a little while, just to clear his head. Maybe he’d find a children’s hospital and perform some miracles in Eastern Europe. 

Crowley got in the car and was visibly surprised to see the angel. Aziraphale handed Crowley the thermos, though it gave him great pains to do so. Crowley, grateful, offered to take him anywhere he wished.

But where did Aziraphale want to go? He imagined a place where just the two of them could be, happily experiencing the pleasures of earth, without worrying about heaven and hell and the ineffable plan. 

“Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know… go for a picnic… dine at the Ritz.” His face lit up at the possibility of that day. One day. 

But not today.

“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you wanna go,” Crowley replied.

“You go to fast for me, Crowley.” It could have been about the car. Crowley did drive very fast. 

But it wasn’t. Aziraphale had done something he thought he never would do. All for the demon he loved. And he didn’t know if it was the right thing—he hoped it was. 

But now he needed space to come to terms with this fact. This, he felt, was the closest he had ever come to falling. But of course, his wings still shone white.


	4. Part 1: Dining at the Ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apocalypse happened, and finally Aziraphale can dine with his love at the Ritz. 
> 
> But that's not all they can do...
> 
> (M/M, top Crowley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright you thirsty smut dragons. 
> 
> Are you sick and tired of Aziraphale on his own? Doesn't he deserve some true release?
> 
> Do you wish they'd stop sighing and fuck already?
> 
> Well guess what, there's still sighing. Oh so much damned sighing. 
> 
> But maybe, just maybe, they can fuck the angst away.

After the Apocalypse 

The food at the Ritz was absolutely divine. 

Angel and Demon sat next to one another, Crowley staring longingly at Aziraphale while Aziraphale finished his lunch, letting the flavors float in his mouth, emitting small groans of satisfaction.

The Angel swallowed his last bite, and dabbed his lips with a napkin. “Well, since heaven and hell are off our backs, for now, where should we go?”

“Anywhere you want, my Angel.”

Aziraphale thought about it. “What about, what about Los Angeles? Have brunch on Melrose? Try some tacos and beer?”

Crowley laughed, “is it always food with you, then?”

“Well—not always.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I mean, we could try a beach perhaps…or do some hiking? See the Great Wall—again.”

“It’s alright. I enjoy watching you.” 

Aziraphale looked up and smiled. 

“Well, when you eat. It’s…”

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, it’s nice to see how much pleasure you take in it, is all,” Crowley sounded a little defeated. 

“Oh, right, well. I daresay. I wish I could find something that you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed this delicious meal.”

Crowley sighed, “ah, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, then. Shall we go back to my bookshop? I have a lovely bottle of unopened port.”

Crowley bit his lip. “Or, well, we could go back to my place—if you’d like? I have some—er—I do have a nice bottle of scotch. Very expensive.”

“Do you indeed? And you—wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“No, not at all, angel,” Crowley stood up, “come on, let’s go then.” 

Crowley’s apartment lacked any decorative warmth. The cold, concrete walls were all very modern, but didn’t exactly make one feel as though they were at home. Aziraphale thought it could use a bookshelf or two. Maybe a nice, decorative throw pillow or two on the stark couches. 

They opened the bottle of scotch—it was smokey and difficult to swallow, but Aziraphale enjoyed it very much. 

“So,” Aziraphale ventured, feeling emboldened by the drink, “I’m your best friend?”

Crowley, sheepishly nodded. 

“Well the feeling is mutual. Let us toast—to friendship.”

They clinked glasses, but still Aziraphale could sense something was wrong. But he didn’t know what it could possibly be—after all, they had prolonged the apocalypse, tricked heaven and hell, and should both be feeling like they were on top of the world. 

And best of all, they could be open with one another—they had, after all, admitted to being best friends. And wasn’t that the best feeling in the world? Aziraphale thought so.

“Crowley, my dear, is there something troubling you? I don’t wish for you to be troubled, not now, not when we’ve done so much. We should celebrate—the world is here, and we are here, with each other.”

Crowley looked up and smiled, but there was still a sadness in his eyes. “Of course, no, you’re absolutely right. I am happy. I am so, so happy.”

Aziraphale moved next to him on the couch, and clasped the demon’s hands. “Then tell me, what can I do for you?” He raised his hand to Crowley’s cheek, and a couple of tears began to trickle down Crowleys face. 

“It’s just, we are here, together, finally, and yet, I fear I’m going to ruin it all again.”

“Again?”

“Yes. All I wanted was for us to be together, but now that we are, all I want to do is tempt you.”

“Tempt me?”

“Yes. But you’re an angel, I don’t even know if you, well if you. If there’s anything…to…tempt. And even if there were, I don’t want to do anything to make you feel, uncomfortable. But the demon in me is there, and its begging me to try, begging me to see how far I can make you go, seduce you into my bed and see how far we can go together,” Crowley let out a small sob. “But I don’t want to push you. And you want—you want friendship. And I want that too. Truly. But I am so conflicted. And I…oh Angel, Aziraphale, I don’t know what I should do.”

More tears fell from Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale wiped them away with his sleeve. 

“There, there, my dear. It will be alright.”

“How could it possibly?”

Aziraphale swallowed and licked his lips, and his heart raced with compassion and excitement. It had taken so much time, centuries, but he was finally ready to take the next step. 

“Perhaps, Crowley, I can…tempt you?” 

Crowley looked up. “Tempt…me?”

And with that, Aziraphale gently lifted Crowley’s face to him, meeting his lips with a kiss. 

They held the kiss for what felt like an eternity, and at first neither moved. It was like the fabric of reality dissolved, leaving only Aziraphale and Crowley, and if they moved, it might all come crashing down. 

Eventually Aziraphale licked Crowley’s lips with his tongue, begging the demon to open his mouth. Crowley spread his lips apart slightly, and the demon’s tongue, slithered in and out, meeting the angel’s tongue before retreating, over and over again. Aziraphale groaned and Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose, moving his hands to the angel’s lapels and clutching the fabric. They lingered for another minute, tongue rubbing against tongue, and teeth and lips, until Crowley, groaning, pulled himself away. 

“But…I didn’t think…can you…”

“Yes, Crowley” Aziraphale moaned before sticking his tongue back in the demon’s mouth. Aziraphale was intoxicated, completely and utterly intoxicated. The kiss, which he had never done before, released such a powerful electric energy between the two that the angel felt as though he could never stop. Self pleasure had been good but this, oh heaven, could anything feel or taste better than this?

Crowley pulled back again, and this time pushed the demon’s shoulder’s away. “Now, wait just a minute, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, a little confused. “Is this, is this not what you wanted?”

Crowley’s jaw dropped a little, and his eyes opened wide with surprise. “Not what I wanted? Not, what I—are you serious Aziraphale, I’ve wanted this for 6,000 years.”

“Oh, only that long?” laughed Aziraphale. 

“But I didn’t think you—I mean, do you, want me like that? Or are you just trying to, I don’t know, comfort me or something? Is this, is this what you really want, I mean, truly?”

“Truly?” Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale dropped his hands, and sat up straight, facing the demon directly. 

“Well, I haven’t wanted this for 6,000 years, but I have wanted this since that night in Paris.” Crowley’s jaw dropped some more. “Well, perhaps not exactly then, but it’s when I first started imagining…us…together.”

“You have done what?”

“Imagine us. Together. But of course, I had no idea what that meant, so of course I had to do some…research.”

“So did you…with humans?”

“Oh, no no no. Well there was sort of a thing with Oscar…but no, never actually.”

“With other immortals, then?”

“My dear Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured with a thick, velvety voice, “it only has ever been you.” 

At that, Crowley, it seemed to Aziraphale, had been thoroughly tempted, and he grabbed the angel and pulled him in roughly for another hot, wet kiss. Crowley then pushed him back onto the couch, and Aziraphale shifted his hips, so that the demon could get in between his legs. At this, the demon fell forward, pressing his palms into the cushion on either side of the angel’s head, to hold himself above his partner on the couch. Aziraphale looked at the figure above him and was completely filled with love and affection and desire. They both were hard--Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s erection pressing against his inner thigh as the demon slowly grinded his hips. 

It made the angel moan.

“So Paris is when you first thought of me?” Crowley asked, before moving to Aziraphale’s neck and covering it with kisses, and licks, and delicate bites.

“Ahh, yes,” replied Aziraphale. 

“And what did you think of?” Crowley began unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, and continued kissing and licking and biting his skin as he went lower.

“W-w-well…I thought of, your hands.”

“My hands?” Crowley asked reaching the top of Aziraphale’s trousers, and undoing them with those very same hands. Aziraphale felt like he was burning with pleasure, feeling the wetness of Crowley’s saliva and slight pain from bite-marks that left a trail down his chest and abdomen. 

“And what did you imagine me doing with my hands?”

“I imagined, ahh yes oh Crowley, mmm, I imagined.” Aziraphale seemed to lack the words to describe what he imagined.

Crowley undid his trousers and ripped them off, revealing Aziraphale’s throbbing erection. Aziraphale looked down at his sudden loss of attire, and got eye contact with Crowley, who smiled devilishly at him.

“Did you imagine this?” And Crowley daintily drew one finger up and down the shaft. 

“Yes, oh, nf, yes,” he said, as he watched Crowley smile and play with him. 

“And this?” Crowley spit on his hand, and wrapped it around Aziraphale, slowly pumping up and down. 

“Oh, I, oh Crowley.” Aziraphale shut his eyes tightly, his head rolling back into the cushion and his heart beating more quickly than he could possibly imagine.

“Do you like that, Angel?”

“Yes, oh oh ooh, yes.”

“Tell me how much you like it.”

“Oh oh, heaven, oh please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop—unless,” Crowley lowered his head and kissed Aziraphale’s hips around his shaft, making gentle circles with his tongue. “Unless, you would like me to do…something else.”

Aziraphale hadn’t imagined receiving oral sex when self pleasuring. It wasn’t that he didn’t think about Crowley’s lips and mouth, it’s more that he wasn’t sure that Crowley would get pleasure from giving it. 

But now, oh now, he didn’t want Crowley to stop. Yes he wanted to feel his mouth encircle him, and he wanted feel his tongue slide up and down. 

“Y-Yes, oh heaven—yes!”

Upon hearing the affirmation Crowley licked Aziraphale’s erection, and Aziraphale bucked accidentally bumping the demon’s jaw. 

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it just—“

Crowley was unfazed, and he took Aziraphale inside his mouth.

“Oh—oh Crowley.”

Crowley’s mouth was warm and inviting. He kept his hand pumping on the lower part of the shaft, while his head bobbed up and down the tip down to the middle, his tongue swirling, massaging in intervals. They kept at this for a few minutes, and Aziraphale thought, surely, that he would explode in a pile of celestial bliss.

Every time Aziraphale felt like he was close to coming, Crowley backed off, staving off the orgasm, and building the pleasure.

“Tell me, Angel,” said Crowley, as he licked the sides of Aziraphale’s shaft. “Is there anything else you imagined?”

“W-w-well…” said Aziraphale, opening his eyes and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to find the words. 

“Was it,” a finger trailed up his inner thigh and towards his backside. “Was it..” the finger got closer and closer…”was it..here?”

A slick finger entered Aziraphale, and he moaned, loudly. “Oh YES, Crowley, Yes, oh,” he felt intense pleasure as the demon slowly massaged gently with one finger. 

Crowley kept this up as he moved his mouth back to Aziraphale’s erection, his other hand still pumping at this shaft. Between he hand, the mouth, the tongue and the finger, the angel couldn’t take it anymore. The buildup was too much—too intense, and he knew it was coming. 

“Crowley I—I’m going to c-c-come.”

“Mmmmm,” moaned Crowley, as he continued to pump, and massage, and suck. 

The vibrations from Crowley’s moan send Aziraphale over the edge. He spurted into Crowley’s mouth as his ass and toes clenched. His hips bucked again and again and again with new waves of pleasure surging forth. “Oh Crowley, I—I love you Crowley, yes!”

He had one final surge before Crowley removed himself from Aziraphale’s loins. Aziraphale had experienced thousands of orgasms by now, but nothing, nothing, like this. He couldn’t move, everything felt wobbly, and he could barely see straight. 

Crowley moved up and collapsed on Aziraphale’s chest, smiling widely at the angel.

“Temptation…accomplished,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale chuckled. 

“I should say.”

They sat together for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Aziraphale’s wits finally came back. 

“Oh, Crowley, please, let me…return the favor?”

“In a bit, my love,” Crowley replied gently stroking Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Love?” Aziraphale repeated. “Crowley…do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Yes but, it’s still nice to hear it.”

Crowley lifted his head and looked deep into Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I love you too, Crowley.”

“For how long? How long have you loved me?”

Aziraphale thought. “From the beginning, I suppose. I think I’ve always loved you, since our first conversation on the walls of Eden. But I don’t think I realized that it was a different manifestation of love until Paris.”

“Wow, that’s so much longer than I thought it was.”

“When did you think it started?”

“Well, I think I’ve always known you loved me, I mean, you are an angel. But I don’t think I realized you saw me as something—more—until the night you gave me holy water.”

“Oh please, don’t mention that night—“

“Why not? That was the night I knew that you trusted me.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “I trusted you before that night, you know.”

“Did you? When?”

“The night you saved my books. You just appeared, in a church no less, and saved them.”

“Oh, that? That was..nothing.”

“Crowley, that was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Crowley said nothing in return. 

They continued to hold one another, gently stroking each other’s arms, and chests—gently exploring one another’s bodies with wandering fingers. 

“Crowley?” 

“Hmm?”

“How many…others…have you been with?”

“Why, are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Oh no, never jealous, I just…I just want to know. You seem very…experienced.”

Crowley laughed “I do?”

“Yes, and well as a temptation demon—“

“Well, sure I’m a temptation demon, I’ve tempted people with sex thousands of times.”

“Oh..”

“But, never with me.”

“Never?”

“Well, I mean I watched, sometimes. And I could sense the arousal and knew it was….intoxicating. And interesting. Perhaps I learned a thing or two. But humans never really did it for me.”

“No?”

“Not since I met you, with your flaming sword.”

“Oh, come now.”

“It’s the truth. I saw that you gave away that sword, without direct orders, and felt so conflicted—ah, I loved it. I loved how worried you were, worried for the humans—so much so that you intentionally lost a celestial, divinely gifted weapon. You were so adorable in your concern. And I just wanted you to feel that way for me. It was selfish at the time, I admit, but that’s where it began.”

“And when did you first love me?”

“Paris.”

“Paris?”

“Yes. I was watching you eat crepes, enjoying every flavor, and I knew. I just knew I wanted you to feel that way, always. I wanted to make you feel that way. I would have fought heaven and hell to make sure that you felt that way.”

Aziraphale laughed, “well—they were divine crepes.”

“So I heard.”

“And the food at the Ritz today, that also was divine.”

“It seemed that way.”

“But this,” the angel looked down and kissed the demon.

“This is better than dining at the Ritz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, thank you! 
> 
> I haven't written part 2 (Crowley's perspective yet), and I will take any feedback you have for me before I proceed. 
> 
> What would you like to see, from Crowley's side of things? 
> 
> There will be angst. And solo action. And yes, more sighing. 
> 
> But if there's a scene or time period you want to see from the demon's perspective, do let me know.
> 
> I just want to give you what you want.... ;)


	5. Part 2: Aziraphale is a daft fool. A daft, irritating, naive, beautiful, intoxicating, fool.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back in Paris, during the Reign of terror. Here's how events unfolded from Crowley's perspective. 
> 
> (no Solo M, but explicit thoughts, and a healthy amount of profanity).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so, you made it this far. 
> 
> The angst didn't turn you off? You clever reader.
> 
> How about we dial it up a bit, then, since you seem to enjoy it oh-so-much. For nothing, absolutely nothing, has more angst in the entire universe than a self-loathing demon infatuated with an angel.

Paris 1793

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, angel,’ thought Crowley, as he saw Aziraphale being dragged into the Bastille. ‘He’s not getting out of there with all his parts, is he?’ 

Aziraphale had espied Crowley almost the moment he set foot Paris—he was bloody well hard to miss, flaunting his ivory brocade like a glimmering celestial raiment. Crowley quietly had followed the angel wandering confusedly down the winding streets, doing Satan knows what. 

This wasn’t the first time Crowley had stalked Aziraphale. When was the first time—Rome, maybe? Crowley couldn’t really remember. It felt like a game of cat and mouse (or, perhaps, snake and mouse) to Crowley, and Aziraphale was completely oblivious—the daft fool. The daft, irritating, naive, beautiful, intoxicating, fool.

Crowley had helped Aziraphale get out of trouble before (though Crowley tried not to let the angel realize it). There were the drunk Roman centurions outside the feast of Petronius who gave each other hungry glances as an oblivious Aziraphale brushed passed them. Crowley knew that look, and knew he didn’t have to tempt them into sinning. 

They never got the chance.

There were also the rakish vagabonds outside the Globe theater. They were planning on stabbing Aziraphale with a small blade and stealing his purse when he left the theater, and found themselves suddenly transported to the tower of London.

Knaves, rascals, thieves, murderers—wherever Aziraphale went, they seemed to follow. Moths to a bloody golden flame, stopped in their tracks by a vengeful serpent. 

‘I’ll have to get inside,’ Crowley thought, and suddenly the guards all had somewhere else to be. 

He slipped his way around the Bastille’s interior, ignoring the screams and stench. ‘Reminds me of Hell,’ he thought as he slithered from room to room, remaining undetected.

He finally found Aziraphale, and Crowley stopped to stare at the bewitching scene. Aziraphale had always looked beguiling, but this, oh, this was too much. The angel really had outdone himself this time, choosing such fine, expensive clothes and looking like a beautifully decorated slice of cake that one might find at a party hosted by Marie Antoinette herself. A sweet slice of heaven trapped in this shit-filled dungeon, shackled and helpless, and obviously very torn about what he should do.

If Aziraphale was a piece of cake, Crowley wanted to devour him, and felt his cock start to get hard. 

But of course, that was very off-limits. Well, probably off-limits. No, yes, very, very off-limits. ‘Aziraphale would probably, I don’t know, douse me in holy water if I ever even suggested such a temptation,’ thought Crowley. ‘Whatever. I’m used to wanking, anyways. Like I actually need the angel.’

The executioner came into the cell, and began speaking to Aziraphale in French. Crowley slipped in after him, completely unnoticed. 

“Animals,” said Aziraphale as the slice of the guillotine was heard from outside.

This seemed, like as good a time as any, to appear.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel. Only humans do that.”

“Crowley!” gushed Aziraphale excitedly, before turning around and—-

—and hang on—what was that? Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. Aziraphale looked at him. I mean, he really looked at him. It was only for a moment, but Crowley knew that look. He’d seen that look a thousand times—a hundred thousand. If Aziraphale had been a human, Crowley would have been tempting him in a flash. 

Aziraphale found Crowley attractive. 

Maybe these games of snake and mouse weren’t so one-sided after all?

’No, of course he doesn’t want me,’ Crowley thought, second guessing his instincts as they fled from the prison. 

But maybe…

After escaping the Bastille, Crowley and Aziraphale went to a creperie, and the demon couldn’t help but stare at the angel as he savored each morsel, slowly dragging the utensils from his mouth, his eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. 

‘Fuck,’ was all Crowley could think, and he imagined sliding his throbbing cock inside of Aziraphale’s mouth. Would he make that same expression? Oh I do hope so.

Imagination was such a wonderful thing to have. It helped him get off a million times over the millennia. But it also meant that, at that exact moment, he was having a very hard time parsing out Aziraphale’s intentions.

Was it just Crowley’s imagination running wild, or was Aziraphale really turning into a naughty little cherub? 

Crowley greatly desired to find out—so he suggested they go to an inn (and get proper drunk in the process).

While riding in the coach to the inn, Crowley thought about the possibilities. He’d imagined fucking Aziraphale since Eden. The humans made it look rather fun, and when Aziraphale was so worried about whether or not he did the right thing with the flaming sword, Crowley almost immediately imagined what it would be like to tempt the angel to do the wrong thing—with him. 

But he’d always figured that the angel would never even dream of indulging in those sorts of carnal pleasures—and even if he did, Crowley knew Aziraphale would never think of a demon (least of all him), the stuck up little prick. Satan, Aziraphale could be annoying, really, really annoying, thinking himself so high and mighty. Well okay, so he was both of those things, high, and mightly, but why shove that into Crowley’s face all the time, how much better he was. It made Crowley pout. 

Thinking these things made Crowley sigh. He didn’t mean to fall. Maybe if his feathers were still white, the angel would look at him differently. Maybe they could have…been together long ago.

‘Why didn’t I keep my blessed mouth shut?’ Crowley admonished himself. Self flagellation usually accompanied his racy thoughts of Aziraphale.

But his thoughts turned to the present. Now it seemed like something had changed. There may have been a possibility. Did Crowley dare hope?

Outside the inn, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand most affectionately. The demon was stunned, momentarily, at the sudden sweet contact. But the bliss was short lived, as at the next moment, Aziraphale made it very clear that he thought demons didn’t belong in such lovely settings. Crowley, stormed off in a rage. The angel could never want to be with a demon. Obviously. 

But, Aziraphale apologized. Of course he bloody apologized. He’s a stuck up prick, but he’s also inherently good. Right?

Inside the inn, the angel and demon downed a bottle of wine, and became rather tipsy.

“What about that flaming sword—would be a nice accessory with your new garb,” the demon teased. 

Aziraphale turned the most lovely shade of crimson at the mention of the sword, and Crowley’s heart ached with desire. 

‘See me. Want me. Be with me,’ the demon thought, as he subconsciously began to drag his fingers across the key to his room. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asked with a shaky voice. “Would it be alright if I asked you a question.”

Crowley was intrigued. “Sure, angel, ask me anything. I won’t promise that I’ll respond, but you can certainly ask.”

“Well, when we were in England, you know, in the 15th and 16th centuries, I couldn’t help but notice that you…seemed to tempt less and less. I know it isn’t my place to really understand it, and I really should try and persuade you not to anyways, but…well…is everything alright?”

Crowley was caught off guard. 'No, angel, it hadn’t been alright,' thought Crowley. 'Not since I realized that tempting humans was not nearly as satisfying as helping you.' 

But he couldn’t say that. He poured wine, giving himself some time to come up with an answer.

“Notice that, did you? Well, I suppose I did slack off a bit. Laziness and all. Really tempting is quite a bit of work, and honestly, not all that satisfying since Eve.”

Crowley noted a flash of disapproval crossed Aziaphale’s face. He quickly looked away from Crowley and sipped his wine. 

Does he believe the lie? Or does he know it’s a lie?

“Oh, come on Aziraphale. You can’t tell me that doing Heaven’s bidding is always satisfying.”

“Of course it is, Crowley.”

“Mmmm,” responded the demon, taking another gulp of wine, and then setting his glass down on the table with one hand. His other hand hadn’t stopped absentmindedly stroking the key.

And that’s when he saw it, again. Aziraphale was watching him—really WATCHING him—stoke the stem of the key. 

‘Oh, this is fun,’ thought Crowley, and he put an effort into delicately sliding his fingers up and down the iron, seeing the angels eyes widen. Crowley knew that look.

‘He wants it. He fucking wants it. It's not all in my imagination.’ 

A wry smile crept across Crowley’s face, and his cock began to stiffen. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we should continue our conversation…upstairs?” the demon suggested.

The angels eyes didn’t move from the key. ‘That’s right, you stuck-up asshole,’ thought Crowley, ‘keep watching. Don’t fucking stop watching until your dick aches and you beg me for release.’

“Are you…tempting me…demon?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley laughed. “And if I were?”

Aziraphale swallowed and turned his eyes to Crowley’s. “I—-I supposed it depends on what the temptation is.”

Crowley smiled, grabbed the keys and bottle. “Follow me. You take the glasses.”

On their way upstairs, Crowley suddenly realized he was nervous. Incredibly nervous, actually.  
While he’d seen the humans do this dance a million times, he had never done it himself. And as much as he’d imagined Aziraphale, he wanted it to be good—for both of them. He wanted to see Aziraphale make the same look on his face that he had when he was eating crepes. He wanted to see the angel blush in ecstasy. 

He also was, at this point, pretty drunk. 

Crowley sat on the bed, and beckoned Aziraphale. 

“Come angel, have a seat, and let’s finish this bottle.”

Aziraphale obeyed. The demon reached out a hand and Aziraphale handed him a glass. The demon smiled and poured. 

“And yours?”

“N-no,I, I think I’m fine.” Aziraphale sounded nervous.

“Suit yourself.”

“Look, Crowley. I just. I just wanted you to know, again, that I am truly grateful for you coming to rescue me today. I mean that. But I’m not sure about you…tempting…me.”

This was starting to sound like rejection. Was this part of a game? Crowley knew Aziraphale wanted him, he could smell the arousal pouring off him. Maybe he just needed some reassurance? Maybe he needed Crowley to beg? Worth a shot.

“Be with me,” Crowley whispered, lifting a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. His thumb stroked gently, and Aziraphale closed his eyes. 

“Please, Angel.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale murmured.

Aziraphale looked like he enjoyed the touch, but his light protestations made Crowley begin to doubt himself. Maybe—maybe he was imagining it? 

But the wine coursed through his veins, and he didn’t want to stop stroking the angel’s cheek. His thumb moved ever so delicately across the angel’s face, moving down to his jawline, and up to his lips, tracing around their fullness. Satan, he wanted those lips, to taste them. He looked down and noticed that the angel was getting hard. 

‘This must be a game, then,’ the demon thought in a drunken haze. ‘He needs me to seduce him, tempt him—as an angel he cannot make the first move himself.’ 

The demon inched his body closer, and slowly leaned his face next to Aziraphale’s, and lifted his face to his.

“Please..Crowley,” Aziraphale opened his eyes, and took the demon’s hand and placed it on the bed. “I can’t.”

It wasn’t a game. It was rejection. Crowley felt like a proper fool, and his heart fell to his stomach.

“But why? Why can’t you?” He could still smell the arousal emanating from Aziraphale.

“Because…Because my side wouldn’t like it very much. And I’m pretty sure yours wouldn’t either.”

It was a punch in the gut. It wasn’t a lie, but it was an excuse Aziraphale made often, usually when the angel really wanted to do something that Crowley suggested, but for whatever reason preferred to keep his holier-than-though attitude and say no.

“Your side,” Crowley scoffed. “Your side would never need know. It’s not like they check up on everything we do.”

“But I would know. And I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

‘And it’s me who is wrong, isn’t it?’ Crowley thought. The whole time they’d known each other, Crowley thought that, from the angel’s perspective, sex itself was wrong. But this night proved that not to be the case. Angels could have sexual desires, just as demons could. It wasn’t the sex. It was the partner.

“It isn’t like you avoid sin, you gluttonous angel.” Crowley spat, feeling hurt by the rejection and hurt that he ever allowed himself to dream that a being as pure and beautiful as Aziraphale would ever stoop so low.

“Oh would you enjoy some more crepes, Aziraphale?” he mocked. “I’m shocked that I didn’t find you at the battle of Marathon looking for some baklava!” 

Aziraphale stood up. “I don’t trust you, Crowley.”

Crowley stood up too, but balance was somewhat difficult. 

“You don’t trust me?! Because, because I’m a demon?”

“Well, yes, if you must know.” Another punch to the gut. 

“And what about today. Did that not earn any of your trust?”

“It was a happy coincidence that you were there, but I don’t believe I can simply transgress my own comfort to say a simple thank you.”

“Coincidence? Coincidence? Do you know why I was there today? There to break you out of that awful prison? Because I could sense you were in danger. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I felt it. I felt you, Aziraphale, and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t want you to lose your corporeal form with that awful machine. I wanted to help you, because I love helping you.”

It was a bit of a lie. He hadn’t sensed him, so much as…stalked him throughout the city. What he wanted to say was that he saw Aziraphale in danger, and whenever he saw the angel in trouble, he felt like he needed to rescue him. And he didn't know why he felt that way, but he did. However, Crowley was drunk and that was about as clearly as he could verbalize what had happened.

“You want to know why I stopped tempting? Because of you. Because spending time with you—ruined me. I realized, some time in the last century, that tempting humans could never give me as much satisfaction as helping you.” 

He felt terrible. He slumped down and began to sob. What’s the point? He couldn’t tempt humans, he couldn’t fuck Aziraphale. 

Oh how he wished he had never fallen. 

Aziraphale patted his knee. “There, there demon,” said Aziraphale, “It’ll be alright.” The angel's voice was sympathetic, and that somehow made it worse.

“How could it possibly?”

Aziraphale sighed. “It’s all just moving so suddenly.”

“Suddenly? You can’t be serious….”

“But I am, Crowley. We are immortal beings. We have forever.”

Crowley sat up and looked at Aziraphale. He hated himself, and he wanted Aziraphale to hate him too.

“Look, Angel, just tell me that you’ll never be with me because I’m a demon, and you’re too good for me.”

“No, don’t you see, that’s not it at all. Of course I have feelings for you, my dear Crowley. And I do want to be with you, I think. In some way, I do. But I don’t know if you can have feelings for me. The sort of unselfish kind of feeling that begets, well, begets true friendship.”

“Friendship? Friendship indeed. Ha.” The mood had passed. Crowley had completely given up on seducing Aziraphale—not then, not ever. 

But now the idea that Aziraphale didn’t even consider him a friend? That hurt in a different way. He had thought they were friends, for 6,000 years he thought they were friends—or something like that. Maybe even something greater. But now, well now, his heart was utterly broken. He was a monster.

“Perhaps you’re right, angel. Perhaps I am incapable of that. Perhaps I only freed you today because I wanted to tempt you into fucking me. How great would that be? Tempting an angel into Carnal knowledge.” 

He wanted to push Aziraphale away. He never wanted to see him again.

“Look, Crowley, let us just be friends for now. How does that sound.”

“Friends? With you? Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. I would never be friends with you. Angel.”

“Very well, Crowley. I believe I should leave now. I probably should have left a while ago. Good night.”

Crowley rolled over, and faced the wall as Aziraphale walked out the door. He sobbed, and desperately wanted to forget the whole thing. 

He didn’t sleep—angels and demons don’t really need sleep, after all, but Crowley usually enjoys it. But now, now there was much to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I tried to alter the tone, for Crowley's perspective. In part 1, for instance, I avoided using vulgar slang and profanity as much as possible, as Aziraphale is really such a goody-two-shoes about such things. 
> 
> Crowley is not.
> 
> Let me know what you think? Does it work? Should I do something different for the next chapter?


	6. They dare come after my sweet, stupid Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, utterly embarrassed, runs away from Aziraphale, and tries to sleep for eternity. But a racy dream, followed by an unpleasant visitor, make the demon realize he needs to get back to the world and face his beloved angel...and come up with a plan to save him.
> 
> TW: allusion to suicide, and some self destructive thoughts
> 
> (Solo M, Dream human Crowley and Aziraphale, top Aziraphale, food fetish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, dear reader, good, you've made it this far. Well done! 
> 
> I'm so happy to have delighted you, and hope that I may continue to do so.
> 
> Do you want some angst? Well, there is some here, truly. After all, Crowley is the angstiest being in the whole universe. But there may be less angst than you want in this chapter. I do hope you forgive me. 
> 
> It's hard for Crowley to feel very angsty when he imagines the sweetest things for self pleasure, after all.
> 
> But there will be more, oh so much more, in the next chapter. Don't you worry.

London,1861

Crowley left the inn early the next morning. He wrote no note, said no goodbyes, simply walked out the door. He tried to tempt a few individuals—a married woman left her family for a young soldier, and a priest skimmed some of the church's alms to buy some ale—but none of this brought any satisfaction to Crowley. 

Aziraphale’s words kept playing in his head, over and over again. 

‘I don’t know if you can have feelings for me. The sort of selfish kind of feeling that begets, well, begets true friendship.

‘I don’t want to do anything wrong.’

‘I don’t trust you Crowley.’

‘Well,’ the demon thought to himself, ‘who needs that fucking prick of an angel, anyways? Yeah, sure, it’s been fun, but time to move on—plenty of other fish in the sea, or whatnot.’

He eventually left France, and made his way to an apartment in London that had conveniently become available. Sure, he knew Aziraphale was also opening a bookstore in London, but that’s not why Crowley was going there. It was the weather, he told himself. Gloomy. Lots of rain. Plus, plenty of souls to tempt. No—it wasn’t that the beautiful, snobby, bewitching, irritating Aziraphale would just so happen to also be there. 

Crowley was not very good at lying to himself, no matter how hard or how often he tried. 

There was a rather large bed inside the apartment, and the demon huddled beneath the covers almost as soon as he arrived. 

“Maybe,” he said aloud to the air, “I could just stay here. I could, couldn’t I? Let the humans continue to destroy themselves until the ineffable plan takes place anyways.”

So Crowley slept. And slept. And continued to sleep. Sometimes he’d wake up, and for a brief moment he thought everything was alright. But he’d blink and remember. Remember he was a demon. Remember that ruined everything with Aziraphale. Remember that his heart felt like utter shit and there was no point in getting up.

So he didn’t. 

This lasted for some decades, until 1861, when something rather unexpected happened. He had a dream.

He dreamt that he was back at Eden with Aziraphale, only this time the two of them were human. Crowley saw Aziraphale standing on the wall, white robes billowing in the wind. Crowley joined him. 

“My dear Crowley,” Aziraphale said sweetly, “I was wondering where you were. I’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“Missed me? Aziraphale, you’re too good for me. You shouldn’t even think of me. You should hit me, call me names, throw stones, cast me aside.”

“Don’t say that Crowley. Don’t you dare. I could never. I love you.”

“You have to say that,” dream Crowley said.

“No, Crowley. I love you.”

And with that, dream Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s face and met his lips with a kiss. Crowley was stunned at first, but opened his mouth to receive Aziraphale’s tongue. They each moaned, and Aziraphale pulled Crowley in closer. 

Suddenly Crowley was naked, and Aziraphale’s hands slid down slowly his back and grabbed his ass. “Oh, my dearest, how wonderful,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley moaned.

His cock was hard—very, very hard. And so was dream Aziraphale’s.

“Fuck me angel,” said Crowley, as the sky above filled with clouds. But these were not normal clouds. They were red and fiery, and it began raining ash and molten rock. 

“I’ll fuck you, my dear” said Aziraphale and suddenly they were no longer standing. Crowley’s back was on the ground, knees and ass spread wide apart. Aziraphale was above him and inside of him, staring deep into his eyes, and thrusting roughly in between his legs. Crowley felt intense pleasure as a throbbing cock filled his ass over and over and over again. Flaming meteors crashed all around them, and the wall began to crumble.

“Fuck, Angel,” moaned Crowley, pleasure pulsating from his ass and spreading up to his throbbing cock. A fire burned all around, swallowing everything in sight, but Aziraphale continued to thrust. 

“It’ll consume us both,” Crowley panted as his heart raced with panic and lust.

“Ineffable,” replied Aziraphale as the fire enveloped them both.

Crowley awoke to his hips bucking back into a pillow as he finished his spontaneous orgasm.

“Well that was…different,” he said to the air as he rolled over and sighed. 

“Oh, Aziraphale.”

Crowley remained in bed for a few days, thinking about the dream. He wanked off to it a couple of times. 

He started to wonder about Aziraphale, what the angel had been doing while Crowley was asleep. ‘Eating probably,’ Crowley imagined to himself as he rested naked on top of the covers one morning, ‘Lapping some custard from a spoon. Slowly dipping his delicate little finger into a meringue, licking off the sticky substance as his eyes flutter shut. Sucking on a hard piece of—‘

Crowley’s dick was hard. Again.

He looked down at his cock. It was long, and relatively straight—not overwhelmingly thick. Crowley didn’t think it was particularly beautiful or anything. Not like he was sure Aziraphale’s was. But he liked to see it when it was hard, mostly because he could imagine Aziraphale doing lovely things to it with that sweet mouth of his. Lick the shaft the way he would lick a spoon. Open his mouth wide and take all of him inside like his dick was a giant fucking creme-filled pastry that Aziraphale could shove in his whole mouth at once (something Crowley saw him do once, in fact, and the demon nearly came on the spot). Suck and suck on his cock like it was a hard piece of toffee until Crowley’s sweet cum spattered into the back of his throat, as he watched Aziraphale drink it all down with a satisfied groan. 

Crowley’s imagination was running wild, and and began to stroke his dick, giving it little tugs here and there. Precum glistened at the head, and he used that to massage the rest of his cock. 

He sucked on two fingers from his other hand, wetting them with saliva, and he reached down to his ass and stuck them inside, thinking about the dream. He ached in desire and rubbed and rubbed to assuage the ache.

“Where the fuck’s a dildo when you need it?” He asked the air, and was just about to will himself a large, phallic-shaped object when something most unwelcome happened. 

A knock came at the door. 

Crowley was bewildered. “Who the heaven could that be?” he wondered in extreme irritation. 

He sat, still, hoping maybe they would go away. But there it went, a knock at the front door.

“Crowley,” a muffled voice answered, “I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

Bless it. It’s Hastur.

“Oh, yes, erm, hang on—I’m, I’m just,” Crowley stood up, for the first time in decades, and found himself a bit out of practice. He was very wobbly, and his cock was still hard. 

“Go away, won’t you?” he admonished his dick in hushed tones. 

He’d better will himself a very concealing robe.

He opened the door and saw the repulsive face of Hastur, who looked at him with a disgusting sneer, as he brushed passed him to enter, not even saying a 'Hello' or 'May I come in.' 

Now, when you’ve been imagining the most beautiful, sweetest and delectable creature you’ve ever seen, as Crowley had been, only to be interrupted (mid-wank) to one of the foulest beings ever to exist in the entire universe, it puts you in a very, very bad mood. 

“Your absence on Earth has been noted, Crawly.”

“It’s Crowley.”

Hastur bared his teeth. “Satan has been wondering what you’ve been doing.”

“Yes well if you must know I was, um…"

'Fuck! thought Crowley, 'why can't I think of anything? Probably because the blood hasn't returned from my--'

"..planning something," he said as soon as he thought of it. It wasn't a great excuse but, he could work with it. Hastur was, afterall, very stupid. 

"Yes, just been planning something. Have to get it just right, you know. Work out the kinks.” Ha. kinks.

Hastur didn’t look convinced. 

“Well while you’ve been ‘planning something,’” Hastur threw the words back in his face, “Ligur and I’ve been the ones who had to thwart the Almighty. Find that Earth-walking, white-winged prick and undo his good deeds. Aziraphale.”

At hearing the angel’s name come from the disgusting creature in front of him, the irritation Crowley felt at being interrupted turned into a deep anger. Not the kind that bubbles to the surface and has you explode in a fit of screams. No. This was the kind of anger that you held on to, that fueled plots of torture. The kind of anger that made manifested itself in schemes wherein you learn everything you can about your enemy to find out what would cause them the absolute most pain, and then relishing with delight when you finally watch your enemy experience the deepest suffering.

That was the kind of anger Crowley felt at learning Hastur and Ligur were following his Angel. His dearest, beloved angel.

“Oh?” Crowley responded, covering up his anger.

Hastur grinned a rotten grin. “Can’t wait to see him burn when we win the Great War. The stuck-up bastard.”

“Indeed,” Crowley looked away, a million thoughts running through his head. 

“Well, no need to do that, Hastur, I was just coming back, you know, I just finished my—plan. So nothing, nothing for you to do up here now, I can take it back over. Thank you.”

“What is your plan?”

Crowley had nothing, but was quick on his feet.

“Oh I would tell you but, it’s going to be a surprise.”

“Will there be murder?”

“Murder? Yes, yep. Lots of, lots of murder. Blood, guts all flowing down the streets, limbs just…strewn…strewn everywhere.”

Hastur smiled at the scene Crowley described. 

“Satan will be much pleased.”

“Yep. Good. Well, thanks for checking in, and uh… you know…my worst to Beelzebub.”

Hastur seemed satisfied, and left. 

“Bastards!” yelled Crowley when he was sure Hastur was gone. "You fucking demonic bastards. All of you."

A plan. He needed a plan. Not the plan he told Hastur he had, but one to save Aziraphale. But what plan, what could he do? 

The thought of harm coming to Aziraphale was too much to bear. Aziraphale wasn’t just the starring role in all of Crowley’s sexual fantasies. He was his friend—even if Aziraphale didn’t fully realize it. He was his best friend, had been since the dawn of humanity and Crowley loved him. He knew it that day in Paris, when there was hope of something more. Sure, it expressed itself as a sexual desire but it was more, it was something so much more. When he said ‘be with me’ it was because he just wanted to, well, be with Aziraphale, whatever that meant, in whatever capacity that meant, and he had been hurt because Aziraphale didn’t believe the demon was capable of that kind of friendship. That kind of love.

But he now knew that he was capable of it. And he wanted to prove it to Aziraphale. And protect him.

But how? 

Church bells chimed in the distance. Then it struck him.

‘Holy water. If it comes to it, I can use holy water.’ The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself it was a good idea. ‘Use it on them if they dare come after my sweet, stupid Aziraphale. And, well....use it on myself if I’m too late.”

But first, he needed to see Aziraphale, see if he was alright. So Crowley ventured outside, for the first time in almost 70 years. The fashions had changed a bit—men now wore tall hats made of beaver fur, and facial hair down their cheeks. The demon willed himself a new look, and began to search for Aziraphale. 

It wasn’t hard to track him down, but then again, Crowley always had a knack for finding Aziraphale. He had opened that bookshop he was telling Crowley about, and there it stood, like a warm beacon in the cold winter night. Snow drifted downwards and dusted the demon’s coat. And there, in the window, he saw him—Aziraphale. 

His heart skipped a beat and he was stunned. The angel looked as wholesome and beautiful as ever, and Crowley suddenly doubted whether or not he could face him after all.

But it was too late. Aziraphale saw him, and swiftly opened the door.

“My dear Crowley, oh is it really you?” the angel called out.

There was a pang in the demon's heart. 

“Aye, it’s me, Angel.”

“Oh well do, please, come in, come in! Oh it is so good to see you.”

Crowley inhaled sharply, steeled himself, and walked in.

…

Months passed, and almost every day the demon visited the angel in secret. They talked about lots of things, food, books. Aziraphale was really passionate about illusionism for some bloody awful reason, and liked to pretend to pull coins out of Crowley’s ear. It was embarrassing. 

Crowley was careful not to ruin it again. He’d never, ever, try and tempt Aziraphale into sex, even though at times it was very, very difficult. It was in his nature, after all, to want to tempt. He also resolved not to tell Aziraphale how he really felt, thinking that the angel would probably not believe him anyways. 

One drunken night, however, he almost did tell him. 

“Angel, I—I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Angel. Angelaphale. Azira. Phale. I want to say *hic* something.” Satan, he was drunk.

“Well, by all means, go ahead.”

“I *hic* I want you to *hic* when the time comes *hic* I can’t do it.”

“Do what, my dear?”

“Hurt you *hic*. I can’t hurt you, Azirangel. I won’t.”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s knee. It felt nice. 

“Perhaps you should sober up, Crowley.”

Crowley hiccuped again, “I will I will but you must know—YOU must *hic* know, I could never”

“I know, Crowley. And I could never hurt you either. Please, please sober up.”

Crowley obeyed, the table shaking as the wine bottle refilled. 

“Crowley, I don’t think we should worry about that now.” 

“But it’s ineffable.” He meant to say inevitable, but both were true.

“Yes, but, we don’t know what it will mean. And truly, I would never, could never hurt you. And I know you would never hurt me.” 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his heart fluttering. ‘He…trusts me?’ thought the demon, his heart feeling very full.

Crowley didn’t mean to, but he lifted his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, and gently stroked it with his thumb. He wasn’t tempting him, it wasn’t exactly sexual (though his cheek did feel wonderfully soft). 

It was a thank you. A ‘thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.’

They stared at one another, and Aziraphale and Crowley tears welled in both of their eyes. 

“Meet me tomorrow at St. James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the food fetish thing wasn't too much. It wrote itself, really. 
> 
> The dream sequence I almost cut out to save for the next chapter, as I thought about having his realizations and self discoveries mirror Aziraphale's celestial light masturbation in chapter 3. 
> 
> But I still think that at this point Crowley thinks of sex through the lens of temptation and destruction, and it becomes intertwined with the realization that when the Great War happens, he's going to lose Aziraphale.


	7. Part 2: Aziraphale's a bloody idiot. He’s lucky he’s so beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water, and Crowley tries to figure out why. 
> 
> Solo M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it this far, have we? Crowley's angst hasn't turned you off?
> 
> Well there may be less angst this chapter than one hopes for, but I'm sure he will be completely dripping with angst next chapter.

London, 1967

‘Ah. He doesn’t trust me. Bugger.’ 

That was Crowley’s takeaway, when Aziraphale refused to give him holy water at St. James. 

He was irritated by this—not so much with Aziraphale (though it presented itself like that at first), but rather, he was irritated with himself, that he allowed himself to think Aziraphale finally trusted him.

“I’m a fool,” he mumbled to himself as he walked home, kicking the dirt. “Obviously Aziraphale doesn’t trust me. How could he? I’m a demon—that’s all I’ll ever be to him. I’ll never be…good…” he was going to say “good enough for him,” but his voice trailed off, and he didn’t complete the sentence.

By the time he got home his temper had subsided—or rather, he was able to bury his anger deep inside. His attention turned back to his intense desire protect Aziraphale from the scourge of hell, which manifested itself into an obsessive desire to find holy water. 

‘I’ll just have to do it without him, then,' thought Crowley. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something behind his back, for his own good.’

Maybe someday he would tell Aziraphale—but not yet. Not until he was sure Aziraphale wouldn’t run away from him. 

In the meantime, Crowley worked hard ton see that they continued their friendship, as they had been for several months. And it was lovely, if not at times sexually frustrating. The way Aziraphale would smile widely at a new book. The way his blonde curls shimmered in the bright sunlight. And of course, the way he licked his spoon clean.

Everything was going at, well, an incredibly slow pace. But that was fine. Crowley had his plans to get Holy Water to occupy himself.

That is, until the wars. 

The angel and demon saw each other only once during the wars. Crowley was very busy, although he didn’t actually do much by way of tempting. He didn’t need to—the humans were already doing their worst. And their worst was, well, so much more awful than hell could have planned. Horror after horror he saw countless lives lost, more lives than at any other point in human history, and he felt completely helpless. 

He also felt the impending sense that this was it—the beginning of the end. This made his desire to find holy water even more urgent. 

While he wandered the war-torn regions of Europe, Crowley missed Aziraphale dreadfully, thinking and worrying about him almost every night. He did on one occasion have an opportunity to act as his white knight, which was absolutely worth the burns he got on the bottom of his feet after walking on consecrated ground. ‘Why couldn’t Aziraphale get caught by Nazis somewhere fun, like a bar or a theater?’ thought Crowley. ‘Oh well, bloody idiot. He’s lucky he’s so beautiful.’ The dumbfounded look on Aziraphale’s stupid, angelic face when he rescued the books filled Crowley with the deepest satisfaction, and he had to walk away lest the angel see how much it made him smile. 

‘Be cool, Crowley, you ass, be cool,’ the demon thought to himself.

When the war ended, he moved back to London, and tried to continue his life with Aziraphale as it had been, but the nagging fear that everything was going to come to an end after the horrors of the wars distracted Crowley greatly. 

‘How the fuck am I going to get holy water?’ It was a riddle that Crowley couldn’t solve.

You see, there were several problems the demon faced when trying to get holy water. First, it’s only ever really on consecrated ground, making it necessary for some non-demon to be the one who actually gets the stuff. It used to be that back in the 14th century, that people just carried it on them (something about keeping away the plague. And demons. Of course, it only really works against one of those things). But today humans don’t really carry around holy water, so just swiping it from someone didn’t work either. 

Then there was asking humans—but who would Crowley ask? He wasn't going to bend free will, and it was actually really difficult to convince or tempt a human to go inside a church and steal a vial of holy water. 

Once, he actually did accomplish this—however, the man came out and the vial was not plugged, and completely dripping. Crowley couldn’t take hold of it without risking it spilling everywhere. 

‘Worthless human,’ he thought.

Finally, in 1967 (after watching a caper movie), he decided that this was an extraordinary (and fun!) plan. He would just pay a team of humans to do it for him, furtively, and efficiently. 

He thus spent some time lurking about SoHo, casually finding out who the best thieves were, and lo— a team was assembled!

The whole thing was conducted with the utmost secrecy—Crowley thought that Aziraphale suspected nothing—but it had been tricky. He’d dodged questions, and avoid telling the angel where he been. He did his best not to outright lie, but it was a challenge.

The night he was first to meet with his team, Crowley believed Aziraphale to be in Rome. He thus felt a little less of a need to be furtive, so parked his Bentley on the street and sauntered to the club. Inside it was dark and smoky—a perfect place for secret plots. 

The plan was set in motion. Crowley’s plan. The Great Plan…to get Holy Water.

He’d think of a better title. 

When the meeting ended, he sauntered over to his Bentley, and slid inside, pleased with himself on a job well done. 

To his utter shock, however, Aziraphale was in the car, looking rather shaken. 

He felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked accusingly. Aziraphale was supposed to be in Rome after all. 

“I needed a word with you,” was Aziraphale’s curt reply. 

‘Be cool. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe it's something totally different.’

“What?” he asked, masking his nerves.

“I hear things…”

‘Oh bloody hell. He knows. He fucking knows.’ Crowley’s mind blanked for a second in panic and he was having trouble concentrating on Aziraphale's words.

“…to rob a church. Crowley it’s too dangerous.”

‘well, shit,’ thought the demon, not entirely listening to Aziraphale, ‘there go my plans. Good luck rescuing him now…’

“…it will destroy you completely.” Aziraphale lectured. 

“You told me what you think 105 years ago,” replied Crowley somewhat defensively.

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” the angel rebuked, “But I can’t have you risking your life.”

Crowley turned his head away, feeling utterly defeated. An ache grew in his stomach, and he couldn’t come up with anything to say.

‘I’m a fool. A fucking fool…’ his head was swimming, and the rush in his head made him unable to hear Aziraphale clearly.

“..for something dangerous. So….”

The angel pulled something out of his satchel. A thermos. With a ridiculous tartan print.

“you can call off the robbery.”

The ache in Crowley’s stomach now turned into a tempest in his head, thought swirling around and unable to get themselves straight. 

“Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”

The thermos exchanged hands.

“Is this the real thing?” 

‘This can’t be the real thing,’ he thought.

“The holiest.”

‘Fuck. It’s the real thing.’

“After everything you said?” Crowley was genuinely confused.

Aziraphale nodded nervously. Crowley had never seen him look so uncomfortable. Not even when he gave the flaming sword to Adam and Eve. Normally he'd make an effort to fix whatever was causing Aziraphale's discomfort, but he didn't know what that was.

“Should I say thank you?”

“Better not.”

‘Fuck, angel,’ Crowley thought. ‘What the fuck does this mean? Does he want to….’

“Can I drop you anywhere?” Crowley asked.

“No, thank you.”

‘Ah, so it doesn’t mean that.’ Crowley thought, his lower lip jutting out.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

‘Okay, so he doesn’t want to…spend time with me…right now? But that’s okay, I can still drop him off somewhere,’ thought Crowley.

“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.” It was innocently asked with no expectations or strings attached, just a desire to do something for Aziraphale, after he had done something for him.

The angel looked at him. “You go too fast for me Crowley.”

Crowley’s heart stopped. He was stunned, and could genuinely say nothing more.

He watched as Aziraphale left the car, and he gingerly examined the thermos. 

At home, Crowley stored the weapon, and poured himself a stiff drink. He had a lot to think about. 

“Why would he do that?” Crowley asked the air. “Why?”

The air didn’t respond. 

‘You move too fast for me Crowley,’ Aziraphale’s words played back in his mind.

“What does THAT mean? The car, he was talking about the car.”

‘But I can’t have you risking your life,’ the words haunted Crowley. 

“Wait…was he talking about the car?”

This back and forth between Crowley and the air went on for some time. The demon kept running through the events of the night over and over again. Why on earth would Aziraphale change his mind? 

Finally, a thought struck him.

“He trusts me.”

The thought was simple, but the impact it had on Crowley’s person was enormous. 

“Oh my hell, he…trusts me.”

It was the only explanation. 

Crowley’s heart raced, and it was as though something surged forth. He set his drink down, and leaned forward on the couch, hugging himself.  
“Aziraphale fucking trusts me.” He began to pant, and small pinpoints of black and white, dark and light, swirled his vision. 

“I’m going to faint,” he croaked aloud, and lifted his legs to curl up on the couch. 

His body filled with tingly warmth, fluttering outwards from his heart, down his abdomen and cock, and down his thighs. 

"He trusts me."

He suddenly, and rather unexpectedly, began to get hard.

“Oh Aziraphale,” he moaned, and suddenly snapped his fingers, and his clothes disappeared, his naked body writhing on the couch. 

One hand gripped the cushion, while the other closed around his shaft. He pumped once, stopped, spat in his hand, and pumped again, this time more vigorously. 

“Fuck, angel, you trust me,” he moaned, thinking about Aziraphale. Not just his lips and cock and ass, but his celestial essence. 

He thought about Aziraphale’s light, his compassion, his goodness. And he began to grind his hips upward, into the rhythm his hand was setting. A groan escaped his lips and turned into a hiss. “Yessss,” his tongue slithered out.

He imagined Aziraphale’s light was coming into him, touching inside every dark and fallen corner of his damned body and making him feel whole. No more darkness, no more shadow, no more hiding from Aziraphale, no more self-loathing because he is undeserving. 

He imagined that the angel blessed the demon, and the demon accepted the blessing. 

And he came, hard, sputtering forth in rushing waves that hit over and over and over again. His teeth were bared as a guttural groan turned into a hiss, and his hips bucked and swirled in a serpentine fashion.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, when the pleasure subsided. 

"Oh, Aziraphale."

He’d wanked millions of times. But never had he experienced something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for keeping up! Two chapters to go. 
> 
> This was the hardest chapter to write so far, which is probably why there is so much dialogue from the show. I try to avoid that as much as possible, but it is one of the angstiest scenes ever filmed, so it was a bit necessary to insert. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	8. Part 2: His doltish, angelic, moronic, absolutely perfect face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apocalypse was thwarted, and we see Aziraphale and Crowley celebrating--this time, from Crowley's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear reader, and thank you so much for making it this far. I hope you are prepared for some angst. 
> 
> Isn't Crowley delicious when he is angsty?
> 
> Well let me tell you, he is even more delicious when he is in the throws of passion.

Aziraphale’s tongue delicately flickered across his lips as he finished his last bite of lunch. Crowley's heart skipped a beat.

Angel and Demon sat next to one another, Crowley staring longingly at Aziraphale while Aziraphale finished his lunch, emitting a small, gratified moan when he finished. The entire meal was like a seductive dance, with Aziraphale twirling spoonfuls of this and that in his hungry mouth, smacking his lips together with the most delightfully luscious movements. 

Crowley was enthralled, completely forgetting where he was. He lost track of the hour, but time didn’t matter anymore. They had won, and at least for now, they were together. 

‘Heaven and hell move slow,’ thought Crowley. ‘I wonder if we still have to.’ 

Aziraphale, as though reading Crowley’s mind, spoke up.

“Well, now that heaven and hell are off our backs, for now, where should we go?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley’s heart fluttered at the mention of a ‘we.’

“Anywhere you want, my Angel,” said Crowley, hoping it would be somewhere...intimate.

“What about, what about Los Angeles? Have brunch on Melrose? Try some tacos and beer?”

Crowley laughed. 'Of course it’s not somewhere intimate,' he thought. 'Aziraphale’s a gluttonous little shit.'

“Is it always food with you, then?”

Aziraphale blushed, and Crowley’s heart beat faster at the sight. 

“Well—not always. I mean, we could try a beach perhaps…or do some hiking? See the Great Wall—again.” 

“It’s alright,” confessed Crowley. “I enjoy watching you.” 

‘Fuck,’ thought Crowley. ‘Maybe that’s too much?’

But Aziraphale looked at him with huge pleading eyes, desiring to hear more. Oh...it was that look. The look that melted Crowley until he was nothing more than a black puddle on the ground. He’d do anything when he saw that look, confess anything, be anything. Do anything.

“Well, when you eat. It’s…” Crowley paused, thinking to himself.

’Should I tell him that the way his mouth moves makes me weak? That when I see his tongue glide across his spoon and his lips, that I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like gliding across my cock? Should I tell him that when I watch him eat, I want him to devour me like I’m a bite of warm, sticky toffee pudding that makes his eyes roll in ecstasy? Should I just confess it all? Or will he run?’

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, it’s nice to see how much pleasure you take in it, is all,” Crowley said. It was true. It was nice, but that’s not all it was. Seeing Aziraphale in ecstasy was everything. 

“Oh, right, well. I daresay. I wish I could find something that you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed this delicious meal.”

‘Fuck, angel, there is,’ thought Crowley. ‘If only I could tell you.’

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” the demon said instead of confessing his real desires. 

The truth was, recently, Crowley began to fear he was walking on thin ice. He wanted Aziraphale. Carnally. A desire that had been greatly heightened by their recent body switch, wherein Crowley felt….everything. 

However, since the embarrassing night in Paris (and even that night in SoHo), the demon was careful not to tempt Aziraphale. The angel made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to be tempted sexually, and that was a line Crowley didn’t want to cross, lest he move too fast for Aziraphale. 

And it was relatively easy not to cross that line with Aziraphale had other things to occupy his mind, in recent years. Dealing with holy water and thwarting the apocalypse really occupies a lot of thought. 

“Well, then. Shall we go back to my bookshop? I have a lovely bottle of unopened port.”

Crowley didn’t really want port. He needed something stronger. Much stronger.

“Or, well, we could go back to my place—if you’d like? I have some—er—I do have a nice bottle of scotch. Very expensive.”

“Do you indeed? And you—wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“No, not at all, angel.”

…

The scotch burned as it went down Crowley’s throat. That’s what Crowley liked about it. It was venomous.

He was letting the scotch warm him, when Aziraphale began to ask a question.

“So, I’m your best friend?”

A lump manifested in Crowley’s throat at the question, and he nodded.

“Well the feeling is mutual. Let us toast—to friendship.”

A pang hit Crowley in the stomach at the word 'friendship.' 

‘I wish it were to love,’ thought Crowley as they clinked glasses. 

“Crowley, my dear, is there something troubling you? I don’t wish for you to be troubled, not now, not when we’ve done so much. We should celebrate—the world is here, and we are here, with each other.”

There it was. That pang in his stomach again. Aziraphale was shooting him with invisible arrows, the obnoxious bugger, and he didn’t even need a bow. Crowley wanted to tempt him..tempt him into his bed, tempt him to do all manner of unholy things. 

But he wouldn't tell him.

“Of course, no, you’re absolutely right. I am happy. I am so, so happy.” 

‘It's not a lie, I am happy’ he thought, after he said this. ‘I just am also a demon. A tempter. And I want to tempt.’

Aziraphale moved next to him on the couch, and clasped the demon’s hands. “Then tell me, what can I do for you?” He asked, raising his hand to Crowley’s cheek, and a couple of tears began to trickle down Crowley's face. 

The touch was to much, and Crowley couldn’t bear it. The pangs in his stomach swelled, and his whole body ached in desire and longing. The lump in his throat became scratchy, and made speaking difficult, and yet he felt the floodgates opening.

“It’s just, we are here, together, finally, and yet, I fear I’m going to ruin it all again.”

“Again?”

“Yes. All I wanted was for us to be together, but now that we are, all I want to do is tempt you.”

“Tempt me?”

“Yes,” Crowley was sobbing now. There was no turning back. 

“But you’re an angel, I don’t even know if you, well if you. If there’s anything…to…tempt.” He didn’t know if the feelings were at all mutual. If Aziraphale would consider him, a demon, as something more.

“And even if there were, I don’t want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. But the demon in me is there, and its begging me to try, begging me to see how far I can make you go, seduce you into my bed and see how far we can go together. But I don’t want to push you. And you want—you want friendship. And I want that too. Truly. But I am so conflicted. And I…oh Angel, Aziraphale, I don’t know what I should do.”

Crowley cried. ‘I’m a fucking moron,’ he thought. ‘I’m ruining it. I’ve ruined it.’ 

“There, there, my dear. It will be alright.” Aziraphale was wiping the tears from his face, his voice full of pity. 

That was the worst, pity. He didn’t want to be pitied by Aziraphale. He wanted to be loved by him.

“How could it possibly?” the demon sobbed.

‘It’s over it’s over it’s over,’ Crowley’s thoughts spiraled out of control. ‘I’m losing him I’ve lost him, I’m a demon, a monster, I—“

“Perhaps, Crowley” Aziraphale’s voice was thick and velvety, and there was something different, almost yearning, in his tone. It stayed Crowley's erratic, self-loathing thoughts.

“I can…tempt you?” 

Crowley looked up. Aziraphale stared at him, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated with….lust. 

“Tempt…me?” the demon squeaked.

And Aziraphale gently lifted Crowley’s face to him, and kissed him.

It was fireworks. No, it was an asteroid field. No, not that either. It was the awesome power of celestial matter in a nebula swerving into a gravitational force. Yes that. That was it. That was what Crowley felt. The stars coming into creation, burning brightly, and then exploding into supernova. 

He came to, and felt Aziraphale’s teasing tongue dance fervently across his lips. Crowley opened his mouth slightly, and got a taste, and oh it was delicious. He wanted to taste more, and more, and more. 

He couldn’t stop tasting more.

Aziraphale groaned and Crowley inhaled, smelling the arousal emitting from the angel. It was intoxicating, utterly intoxicating. But suddenly a wave of doubt rushed over Crowley, so with the greatest effort, he pulled himself away. 

His thoughts were swirling. He wanted to say was, “But you are so much better than me, and I didn’t think you were interested in me like this. Can you actually deign to be with a demon?”

But what he was actually able to articulate was, “But…I didn’t think…can you…”

“Yes, Crowley” Aziraphale moaned, and stuck his tongue back in the demon’s mouth.

But Crowley had been able to regain composure, and pushed the angel away. 

“Now, wait just a minute, Aziraphale.”

The angel opened his eyes. “Is this, is this not what you wanted?”

“Not what I wanted? Not, what I—are you serious Aziraphale, I’ve wanted this for 6,000 years.”

“Oh, only that long?” Aziraphale laughed. Crowley didn’t find it so amusing.

“But I didn’t think you—I mean, do you, want me like that? Or are you just trying to, I don’t know, comfort me or something?” Crowley wanted to be sure. 

“Is this, is this what you really want, I mean, truly?”

“Truly?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded.

“Well, I haven’t wanted this for 6,000 years, but I have wanted this since that night in Paris.” Crowley’s jaw dropped some more. “Well, perhaps not exactly then, but it’s when I first started imagining…us…together.”

“You have done what?” Crowley’s imagination went wild, thinking of Aziraphale touching himself to the thought of….him.

“Imagine us. Together. But of course, I had no idea what that meant, so of course I had to do some…research.”

“So did you…with humans?”

“Oh, no no no. Well there was sort of a thing with Oscar…but no, never actually.”

“With other immortals, then?” Crowley felt a little sad at this prospect. 

“My dear Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured with a thick, velvety voice, “it only has ever been you.” 

At hearing that, something inside Crowley snapped. He pulled Aziraphale in roughly for another hot, wet kiss, and then pushed him back onto the couch. 

The demon was released, his inhibitions had fallen away. 

Aziraphale shifted his hips. 

‘That’s right you fucking minx,’ thought Crowley as Aziraphale welcomed the demon between his thighs. ‘You want it. And you want it from me.”

At this, the demon fell forward, pressing his palms into the cushion on either side of the angel’s head, holding himself above his the angel on the couch. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and excited and beautiful. Crowley felt the angel’s cock against his hips, and the feeling made Crowley softly grind. 

This seemed to make the angel moan.

And suddenly Crowley wanted to see Aziraphale make that face of ecstasy. That face he’d seen him make whenever he ate a delicious meal.

‘Why should food get all the fun,’ the demon teasingly wondered to himself.

“So Paris is when you first thought of me?” Crowley purred, his s’ lingering into a subtle hiss. He nuzzled his face into the angel’s neck, sucking and kissing and tasting and biting. He felt Aziraphale’s body react, wanting more. It was delicious.

“Ahh, yes,” replied Aziraphale. 

“And what did you think of?” Crowley began unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, and continued kissing and licking and biting his skin as he went lower. 

“W-w-well…I thought of, your hands.”

“My hands?” That wasn’t what Crowley expected to hear, but it made him smile. He began to undo Aziraphale’s trousers.

“And what did you imagine me doing with my hands?” Crowley wanted to give it to him. 

“I imagined, ahh yes oh Crowley, mmm, I imagined.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s trousers, and examined the outline of his cock. 

Mmmm, he wanted to see it, and see what Aziraphale wanted him to do with his hands. 

Crowley undid Aziraphale’s trousers, ripping them off (with a little demonic miracle), and stared in awe at the throbbing dick. It was thicker than Crowley’s, though a tad shorter. There was already some precum on the tip. 

It was perfect. Beautiful. 

“Did you imagine this?” And Crowley daintily drew one finger up and down the shaft, watching Aziraphale’s face, the ‘oh’ he made with his mouth.

“Yes, oh, nf, yes,” the angel mumbled.

‘That’s right,’ thought Crowley. ‘Feel my finger, you dirty fuck. Feel me tease you the way you've been teasing me for centuries.’

He watched Aziraphale’s face until he couldn’t stop himself from giving the angel more.

“And this?” Crowley spit on his hand, and wrapped it around Aziraphale, slowly pumping up and down. He watched Aziraphale's face, his doltish, angelic, moronic, absolutely perfect face. The angel's eyes began to flutter upwards. Crowley smiled.

“Oh, I, oh Crowley.” Aziraphale shut his eyes and his head rolled back into the cushion. 

Crowley’s heart beat fast. Aziraphale was making that face, the one he makes when he eats a trifle. But it was better. His expression of ecstasy was more intense, his mouth open, revealing his tongue, which pressed against his top row of teeth. His brow was raised and his eyes, oh his eyes, fluttered beneath their lids.

“Do you like that, Angel?” Crowley knew he did, but he wanted to hear the angel say it.

“Yes, oh oh ooh, yes,” Aziraphale groaned, his voice soft and warm.

“Tell me how much you like it.” 

“Oh oh, heaven, oh please, don’t stop.” 

Crowley smiled, staring at his angel in ecstasy. 

“I won’t stop—unless,” Crowley lowered his head and kissed Aziraphale’s hips around his shaft, making gentle circles with his tongue. God—Satan—Whoever, his skin tasted amazing. It was sweet and soft and salty and warm. He wanted to taste more. 

“Unless, you would like me to do…something else.”

Crowley hadn’t often imagined sucking Aziraphale’s cock—at least not as often as he imagined the angel sucking his. But now all he wanted to do was to make Aziraphale fall into even deeper euphoria.

“Y-Yes, oh heaven—yes!” Aziraphale shouted. 

Crowley licked Aziraphale’s cock, and it clearly made Aziraphale excited, as his hips bumped Crowley’s jaw. 

The excitement drove Crowley wild.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” angel said, in a voice that Crowley thought sounded far too clear minded. “I didn’t mean to do that, it just—“

Crowley, practically unhinging his jaw, rushed to fill his mouth with Aziraphale, to shut him up, to stun him back into pure, mindless bliss.

“Oh—oh Crowley,” Aziraphale cooed.

‘That’s right, angel,’ Crowley thought, as his mouth traveled down Aziraphale’s cock, filling himself with the angel’s length. ‘Shut your fucking mouth and let me take care of you.’

Crowley had never done this before, but he’d seen it done…enough times…to know some of the tricks. He kept his hand pumping on the lower part of Crowley’s dick, while his mouth remained busy with the head and middle. Whenever he heard Aziraphale moan and felt his hips absentmindedly grind with more fervor, he slowed his pace, preventing his partner from coming.

He wanted it to last. And he wanted to see if he could give Aziraphale even greater pleasure.

‘I bet the fucker likes ass play,’ Crowley eventually thought, no longer doubting his own intuition.

He was, after all, a temptation demon.

“Tell me, Angel,” Crowley murmered, and he licked the sides of Aziraphale’s shaft. “Is there anything else you imagined?”

“W-w-well…” Aziraphale stammered. His legs absentmindedly spread further, and his ass was on full display.

‘Oh this is it. This is bloody it.’ Crowley placed his index finger in his mouth, drenching it with saliva.

“Was it…” he placed the finger on the soft skin of Aziraphale’s inner thigh, and slowly dragged it towards his ass. 

Aziraphale murmured helplessly. Crowley smiled, seeing the impact it had on the angel. 

‘You dirty, dirty tease,’ thought Crowley.

“Was it..” Crowley drew out the words, and his finger was on Aziraphales round flesh now, working their way ever closer. Aziraphale's face tensed in frustration.

”Was it..” he looked down to see that he was going to penetrate the right spot, and then he turned his gaze back to Aziraphale’s face. Fuck, it was heaven. No, not heaven. Better than heaven. It was Earth. 

“…here?” and with that, he gently slid his wet finger inside of Aziraphale’s ass.

“Oh YES, Crowley, Yes, oh,” the look on Aziraphale’s place was pure, unadulterated, ecstasy. 

Crowley smiled to himself, thoroughly satisfied. He gently massaged, not wanting to tear the skin, but wanting to access the parts that would give the angel a deep pleasure. And, by the look on Aziraphale's face, he could tell it did.

He then moved his mouth back to Aziraphale’s cock, which he realized had been neglected during these southern exploits. His tongue dragged up and down, tasting and making him salivate. His other hand, the one not currently occupied with Aziraphale’s clenching ass, continued pumping the shaft, and he could feel the angel swerving and bucking underneath him. 

“Crowley I—I’m going to c-c-come.”

‘Of course you are, you dirty, dirty angel,’ thought Crowley, and the thought caused him to moan as he sucked Aziraphale’s dick.

The vibrations from Crowley’s moan send Aziraphale over the edge. Aziraphale spurted into Crowley’s mouth, and he tasted delicious. Like sticky toffee pudding and pears and scotch and heaven. 

Aziraphale’s hips bucked. Crowley’s finger still wriggled inside of the angel, feeling encased by his clenching muscles. The demon’s mouth and other hand tried to keep pace on Aziraphale's dick, but the angel was bucking with wild abandon. 

“Oh Crowley, I—I love you Crowley, yes!”

Hearing this made Crowley’s heart swell, as Aziraphale bucked in pleasure one more time. 

Crowley waited until he was sure Aziraphale was done, slowly removed his finger, and collapsed upon the angel’s chest. His skin was warm and smooth.

“Temptation…accomplished,” Crowley said. 

“I should say.”

They sat together for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Aziraphale’s wits finally came back. 

“Oh, Crowley, please, let me…return the favor?”

“In a bit, my love,” Crowley replied gently stroking Aziraphale’s chest, thinking about what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This was the most fun chapter to write, TBH. I was debating whether or not I wanted to just rewrite the scene from earlier, or do another scene with Crowley orgasming, but decided that it would be more interesting to see the same exact scene through Crowley's eyes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. Next chapter is...the big one...and I have no beta, so I am a little nervous about it. I just want to make sure you really feel satisfied. 
> 
> :)


	9. The temptation and the blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are together at last. 
> 
> (M/M, rimming and ass play), mild self-loathing.

A little while later…

Crowley and Aziraphale were tangled in each other. Crowley lay squarely on top of the angel, his head resting on his chest, and his hips between Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale, in turn, wrapped one of his legs around the demon, wanting their bodies to be as close as earthly possible. 

They were naked—skin on skin. The sensation enraptured Aziraphale, and Crowley had never felt safer. 

Crowley lifted one hand and danced his fingers delicately across Aziraphale’s chest, encircling his nipples and brushing past his soft blonde hair. 

“Mmmm,” groaned Aziraphale at the demon’s touch. “That’s lovely, my dear.”

Crowley gazed up at the angel’s face, looking to see if it was showing any signs of ecstasy.

‘You’re beautiful, Angel,’ Crowley thought, wanting never to leave his spot. 

Aziraphale felt satisfied, absolutely and completely…for a while, at any rate.Eventually the angel began to feel a bit…peckish. 

“My dear,” he asked Crowley, somewhat embarrassed. “I don’t suppose you have a tin of biscuits lying about?”

‘Glutton,’ Crowley thought to himself, as he rolled his snakelike eyes. He snapped his fingers, and willed a tin of ginger biscuits.

Aziraphale smiled. 

‘Don’t smile you bastard,’ Crowley thought at seeing that smile. ‘Don’t you fucking dare smile at me.’

“And well, perhaps a spot of tea?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley hissed.

“Did our earlier exploits not satisfy you?” Crowley asked, irritated at the thought. 

But of course, he would give Aziraphale anything he wanted.

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh yes my love, they did utterly and completely!”

Crowley felt satisfied at this response, but still annoyed that Aziraphale couldn’t just let the moment last. He grumbled and disentwined himself from the angel, standing up, and sauntering his way over to the kitchenette. He didn’t really keep anything edible (other than alcohol), but he decided to check to see if he did have some Earl Grey. He could summon it, he supposed, but he wanted to show Aziraphale that he was willing to go to a physical effort to make him satisfied.

Aziraphale watched the demon leave, and felt a combination of delight that Crowley was doing him a favor, and yearning for the demon to come back to him. 

Crowley’s backside was to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale drank in the sight. His slender figure swayed, the sinews in his shoulders and on his back rippling beneath his skin, down to his hips, his buttocks. It was like watching a piece of Renaissance art, lustily crafted by Michelangelo, saunter on nakedly and on full display. 

Aziraphale realized that he no longer desired biscuits or tea. He wanted Crowley—he wanted to taste him. It was a craving that made his belly tingle with desire and mouth salivate with anticipation.

The demon, completely unaware of Aziraphale’s thoughts, walked to a cabinet and opened it. It was bare, except a near-empty bottle of something alcoholic. 

‘Would scotch be a good substitute for tea’ Crowley wondered, inspecting the bottle. 

Aziraphale stood up and walked quietly over to the unsuspecting demon, feeling himself becoming aroused. 

“Well, angel,” said Crowley, deciding scotch wouldn’t be a good substitute for tea, “I’ve got nothing here for you, so if you want some tea you bloody well—“

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon and planted a kiss on his shoulder. His tongue slid across his skin, and he gently sank his teeth into Crowley’s flesh, and began to suck. 

‘Oh, hell! thought Crowley and he jumped slightly at the sudden touch. He rolled his head backwards and his mouth was left ajar. His tongue pressed against his top row of teeth, and he let out a small gurgling whimper from the back of his throat. 

Aziraphale stopped at hearing the noise, and removed his hands. 

‘No…’ thought Crowley at the sudden lack of contact.

“Is this alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, his voice sincere and tender. He didn’t want to make the demon uncomfortable. 

Crowley turned around and looked deeply in to the angel’s eyes. 

“I’m yours, angel. Yours. Do whatever you want.”

Aziraphale smiled at this, lifted his hand affectionately to Crowley’s cheek, and ran his fingers gently behind the demon’s hear. 

“I know, Crowley. But please, tell me if it’s too much. Just tell me ‘no’ and I will stop.”

‘You can fuck me sideways, angel, and I’d never say no. Spit on me, kick me, slap me, fuck me, do whatever you want. I’m yours,’ thought Crowley, but he said none of this. 

Crowley nodded, turned his face into the angel’s hand, and kissed Aziraphale’s palm.

“I want to taste you Crowley,” the angel said. The demon glanced up and lifted an eyebrow. 

‘Well that’s…tempting,’ Crowley thought.

“I want..” Aziraphale took a step closer to the demon, and lifted his other hand to his hip. “…I want to savor you. Completely.”

‘You vixen, you lascivious angel,’ thought the demon. 

And with that Aziraphale guided Crowley’s face to his they kissed, tongue against tongue. Aziraphale felt Crowley grow hard, and the angel moaned slightly before pulling away.

“Perhaps we might sit down?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley obliged, walking back to the couch and holding Aziraphale’s hand. 

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hands, and looked deeply into his eyes, before gently pushing him back onto the couch. He mirrored the position Crowley assumed before, putting his hands on either side of the demon’s head and holding himself aloft. 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and bit his lip. ‘Do what you will, you stuck-up prick,’ thought the demon.

Aziraphale kissed his neck, his chest his arms. When he reached the demon’s hands, he gently dragged his mouth and tongue across each finger, and gently sucked the tip of each one. Crowley moaned each time. 

Aziraphale moved back to Crowley’s chest and worked his way down, down, down to his hips, and peppered every inch of bare skin with kisses, his tongue daintily tasting it all. 

The pleasure, Crowley thought, was ineffable.

Aziraphale moved around Crowley’s erection, but not actually tasting it, instead working his way down one thigh. He passed the knee, the shin, the ankle. He kissed a foot, nibbling slightly on Crowley’s toes, before switching to the other side. 

Azirapahle then worked his way back up the other leg, slowly savoring every mouthful of Crowley.

He finally made his way back up to Crowley’s hips, the demon’s erection looming above his face. 

‘Stop teasing me you angelic fuck and suck my cock,’ Crowley thought, and murmured. 

“Did you say something?” Aziraphale asked, hearing Crowley mumble something. 

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, realizing that his inner monologue was not hidden, and yet he could stand it no more. 

“I said, ‘stop teasing me you angelic fuck, and suck my cock.”

They stared at one another in complete silence, that seemed to last a while. Crowley began to wonder if he’d gone too far.

“…sorry, Angel. Did I…was that too much?” Crowley swallowed nervously.

“No, not at all,” Aziraphale responded. “I…rather…liked it.”

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Can I…do it some more?” the demon asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I wish you would. I think I rather like being…ordered about by you, my love” Aziraphale responded, before dragging his tongue across Crowley’s shaft. 

“Fuck!” groaned Crowley in surprise as he bucked slightly. “Fuck, Aziraphale, yes! Lick my cock”

Aziraphale obeyed, licking Crowley’s erection and enjoying the taste immensely. 

“Yes, angel,” Crowley moaned. “Suck me off! Suck me off you bloody prig.” 

The angel was only happy to oblige. He opened his mouth wide and wrapped his lips around the head. He moved lower, feeling the demon’s cock fill the cavity, and dragged his tongue. Crowley was stunned, his wits had completely left him at the feeling of Aziraphale’s mouth sucking his dick. 

Aziraphale tasted Crowley’s precum, and it was divine. It made his dick quiver. 

“Fff-fuck-oh-fuuuccckksss,” Crowley’s yelp turned into a hiss, his hips swerving in a serpentine fashion beneath Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale found that, although Crowley’s shaft was rather long, he could fit most of the erection in his mouth, letting the head pass into the back of his throat. When he reached the base with his lips, Crowley gave a whimper of pleasure. 

“Shit, Aziraphale, how can you…” Crowley groaned as Aziraphale bobbed his head up and down the shaft, dragging his tongue across the length. 

“Don’t you stop, angel, don’t you dare fucking stop!” Crowley commanded. Aziraphale obeyed. 

A burning pleasure built up inside Crowley, and his hips began to grind into Aziraphale’s mouth. 

“I’m going to cum!” Crowley yelled, as his pleasure gushed forth almost immediately.

“Suck it, suck it, fucking swallow, yes!” screamed Crowley, as he stared down at Aziraphale. 

Warm, gooey wetness spewed forth, and filled Aziraphale’s mouth. He swallowed, tasting the sticky, bitterness as it went down. The taste was exquisite. It made the angel moan. 

Crowley bucked one final time, before collapsing back on the couch. 

“Fuck, Aziraphale,” was all he could muster to say. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said, peeling himself off of Crowley’s cock and smacking his lips together. I must say that tasted amazing.”

Crowley grunted. ‘A glutton for sex,’ he thought devilishly. 

“And when you’re ready,” the angel continued, “I’d like to taste the rest of you.”

‘More?’ the demon thought. Crowley smiled wryly. 

“The rest of me?”

“Indeed.”

'He wants to eat my ass,’ thought the demon.

“You are dirty aren’t you,” Crowley said.

“Well, if saying that makes you feel better.”

“Oh, it does angel. It really does.”

Aziraphale sat up, folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for Crowley to flip over. He looked over at the demon and smiled, feeling sated and warm. 

Crowley looked at the angel, sitting at his feet, waiting patiently. It made him smile.

“Alright, then,” Crowley said with a slight groan, as he lazily shifted his weight so that he was now lying on his stomach, his head turned to the side. 

“Right, said Aziraphale, and he began this time at his feet and slowly worked his way up the back of Crowley’s legs, this time alternating from left leg to right like a typewriter, hopping from leg to leg before moving up higher. 

When he arrived at Crowley’s ass, he jumped ahead, and dragged his lips and tongue across the demon’s lower back. 

‘Well that’s not fair,’ thought Crowley, and he let out a small whimper.

Aziraphale wanted to taste the demon’s backside, slide his tongue over Crowley’s flesh and dip inside. But he also felt like if he started down this path, he wouldn’t be able to stop until he was pumping inside the demon, and he didn’t want to miss tasting any of the demon’s skin.

Plus, he greatly wanted Crowley to command him to do it. 

“Now, now,” Aziraphale said in a gentle, admonishing tone, “I mustn’t rush the meal. Dessert comes at the end, you know.”

’It’s always food with you, isn’t it?’ Crowley thought. 

The demon sighed, and let Aziraphale work his way up his back, his shoulders, and to his neck. It felt intoxicating, the angel’s lips and tongue working their way across every inch of demonic skin.

Aziraphale inhaled deeply when he reached Crowley’s neck, and let out a groan. 

“You smell…tempting, my dear,” said Aziraphale in a deep voice. 

It made Crowley’s cock shiver. 

“Perhaps, I might…” Aziraphale purred as he lifted a hand and grabbed a fleshy handful Crowley’s ass, his erection pressing into the demon’s backside. He could no longer wait for the demon to beg. “...move on to the final course?”

Crowley was hard again, and aches of desire were building in his ass. He wanted to feel Aziraphale fill him, pump inside of him, like the dream he had back in the 19th century.

"Oh you tease!” Crowley snarled as he bucked his hips backwards. “You minx. You hypocritical fuck!” Crowley could no longer hold back his demands. “Get your face down there and finish what you started!”

With that, Aziraphale moved his head down, and didn’t just delicately kiss the muscly mounds. He sunk his teeth into the demon, salivating at the mouthful of flesh, not biting too hard, but hard enough to make Crowley yelp.

Aziraphale stopped, and lifted his head. “Oh, I’m sorry dear,” said Aziraphale most apologetically, “I didn’t mean to—“

“GET YOUR FACE BACK DOWN THERE AND DON’T FUCKING STOP, YOU HOLIER-THAN-THOU PIECE OF CELESTIAL ASS.”

Right. Aziraphale’s heart skipped. He didn’t have to be told twice. 

He brought his face back down to Crowley’s ass and continued to lick, and suck, and bite.

“That’s it, angel,” purred Crowley. “That’s it.”

Crowley’s hips swerved, pushing gently back into Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale licked along the cleft, and Crowley moaned somewhat incoherently.

“Oooh, oh angel…”

Aziraphale bit his lip and raised an eyebrow. He shifted his weight so that he could use one hand to spread Crowley open, and he began lick, slowly dragging his tongue within the folds until if found a deep crevice, and he dipped his tongue in further. 

“Fuck, Angel, God—Satan—Whoever, FUCK!” Crowley yelled, pleasure pulsating through his ass, his loins, his entire body. 

Aziraphale shifted his weight again, and using his other hand, he slid a finger next to his tongue, finding the spot that made Crowley clench with ecstasy. 

“Yeah, angel. That’s it. Stick it in me! Give me more.”

Aziraphale waited a few more moments, before sticking in another finger. Crowley roared in pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, fucking do it!” he yelled. 

Aziraphale massaged, no longer licking but examining what was happening. His saliva had wetted the area, making it easier to glide his two fingers in and out, but he was concerned that if Crowley wanted something else, it would require some extra assistance. 

“More!” Crowley demanded. “Give me more.” His hips bucked with wild abandon.

And Aziraphale couldn’t say no. He miracled a tube of slippery lubricant, and rubbed it onto Crowley’s backside. It was one he had discovered in his own personal explorations. It made the skin tingle with delight.

“What—“ Crowley began.

“Shh, it’s alright my love. It will feel even better. I promise.”

“Nnnff,” was Crowley’s only reply, as his ass became slick and slippery with the emollient. 

Once Aziraphale was certain that the area was slick enough, he inserted a third, and then a fourth finger. 

Crowley groaned. “Oh you dirty angel” he muttered, his hips swerving and bucking. 

The sight made Aziraphale hard. He was pulsating with desire.

“Fuck me.” Crowley commanded.

“My dear?” Aziraphale asked, his fingers working their way in and out of Crowley. 

“I said, FUCK ME you seraphic tease.” 

His command was not to be ignored. 

Aziraphale sat up, positioning his hips behind Crowley. His hands spread Crowley open, and with painful slowness, he gently pushed his erection inside of the demon.

He moved gradually, so as not to hurt Crowley, but the slick tightness began to churn his mind into a frenzy. He wanted to pump, faster, and harder, but he held himself back. 

“Oh, oh Crowley,” he moaned in pleasure, feeling himself become one with the demon. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his tongue licked his lips.

The moan drove Crowley insane, as Aziraphale’s cock filled him deeply, forcing ripples of pleasure

“Harder!” commanded the demon with a husky voice, and Aziraphale obeyed. 

They kept pace for a while, Aziraphale thrusting harder and harder, while Crowley groaned and tilted his hips. It was euphoric bliss.

But eventually Aziraphale wanted more, so he slowed his pace. 

“What are you doing, Angel?” the demon asked with a whimper. 

“I want to see your face, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was low and pleading. 

“O-okay,” said Crowley, genuinely taken by surprise. He was enjoying himself, enjoying being fucked in the ass. But watching Aziraphale cum with inside of him would be even better. Watching his eyes roll back into euphoria as he pumped inside of Crowley’s ass was an exciting thought. 

Crowley flipped back around, trying to keep Aziraphale’s cock inside his ass, but it did eventually slip out. 

“We’ll have to practice,” Aziraphale said reassuringly. 

Crowley looked up, unsmilingly. He wanted Aziraphale inside of him. He got eye contact with the angel, and the angel’s smile began to fade.

Aziraphale was about to ask if something was wrong, but Crowley spoke.

“Come in me, Angel. Come inside me—fast…hard..slow…however you want. Be in me, be with me, be a part of me. And never leave.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he bit his lips, but he didn’t move. 

Eventually he spoke. “Are you tempting me, Crowley?” His voice was deep and sultry, dripping with lust. 

He wanted to be tempted. 

He needed to be tempted 

“Yes, angel. I am tempting you,” Crowley pronounced with a slight snarl. His teeth were bared, and his chest was heaving with desire. Air hissed between his teeth as he inhaled and exhaled.

“Slide your cock into my ass, and thrust yourself into ecstasy.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, and looked at Crowley. Crowley’s eyes maintained eye contact, and he spread his legs even farther apart. 

“What’s stopping you angel?” Crowley asked, his voice hissing in desperate anticipation. 

“I see you,” was Aziraphale’s candid response. Crowley stopped heaving, slowed his swerving hips, and he began to worry that Aziraphale was going to stop. He worried that the spell failed, and that Aziraphale was disenchanted. 

“I see you,” Aziraphale continued, his voice guttural, and Crowley’s heart beat quickly in fear and anticipation. 

Azirpahale’s hands spread Crowley’s ass, so that his throbbing cock slid easily inside. 

“Demon,” Aziraphale grunted, thrusting with strong force. 

Crowley whimpered in ecstasy.

“Tempter,” Azraphale thrust again, and Crowley’s jaw dropped in rapture, his eyebrows raised in euphoric surprise. 

“Fallen,” Aziraphale said, thrusting deeper than before. Crowley gave a small cry. Aziraphale fell forward, pressing skin against skin and remaining inside of his demon. 

Crowley was whining in ecstasy, eyes shut, and barely aware that the angel’s face was now practically on top of his. The angel was inside of him, but not just physically. The demon’s dark essence exuded from his body, his skin tingling as his dark temptation gushed forth into the ether. 

And Aziraphale was there, absorbing the darkness, letting it wash over him like a wave. He felt the temptation and accepted the temptation. And inside Crowley he replaced the darkness with his own celestial light, filling every inch of the demon, until each hidden crevice within Crowley brimmed with Aziraphale’s essence. Crowley cried out in euphoria.

“And I bless it,” the angel whispered into Crowley’s ear with one final thrust, the light and dark, the blessing and the temptation, fusing together as one etherial essence, something transcending the boundaries of heaven and hell. 

And the fabric of reality tore as they erupted in ecstasy, together, as one. One substance that rippled forth in waves of pleasure over the bodies of both angel and demon, entwined together as one new being, a new essence, something that was beautiful and terrible and powerful and infinite, something that pushed beyond the dichotomy of good and evil.

And they thrust into each other, Crowley and Aziraphale, demon and angel, tempter and blesser. And they groaned together, grinding deeper and deeper, their spirits colliding and melding in pure ecstasy as the ultimate delight rushed through them.

And then they disappeared, their corporeal forms seemingly evaporating in a cloud of pleasure. 

But they were not gone. No, they were there, still there, able to shift back into their full-sized bodies if every they wanted to again. 

But they didn’t. Not for a long, long time, anyways. They had pierced the veil between worlds, and it was in that place beyond our own reality that they stayed, bonded together in ecstasy…

…until the world needed them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first Good Omen's fanfic! I hope it was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write. 
> 
> While I believe this particular story is over, I do have another idea for a shorter story (2 chapters), from two different perspectives. 
> 
> I also have a much longer fanfic in mind, but I'm not sure when that will happen. It'll be a lot longer, involving multiple Good Omen's characters, and having less smut (....probably).
> 
> Anyways, if you liked my story, let me know what you liked about it, so that I can be sure to include it in other stories in the future. 
> 
> And if enough people want an encore, I could be persuaded. After I write my next story, of course. 
> 
> Thanks again!!!


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